


Midnight Revelations

by ParadoxMage



Series: Midnight Messages Expanded [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort, F/F, Midnight Messages, Nightmares, Slow Burn, Texting, Trauma, Widowtracer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2019-08-21 19:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 25,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16582538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadoxMage/pseuds/ParadoxMage
Summary: Amélie Lacroix is finally free the control of Talon, but things are still uncertain. She is being held by the newly rebuilt Overwatch who until recently thought of her as an enemy, she hasn't been allowed to see Lena Oxton who is responsible for her liberation, and the doctor responsible for her life as the Widowmaker is still out there. The future is unknown, and that has never been so terrifying or so wonderful.The sequel to Midnight Messages.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Announcer voice) WELCOME TO THE MAIN EVENT  
> (normal voice) Ok, enough of that. Hey guys! Welcome to what's been taking up my time with writing for the last few months (We'll see if I was wasting my time), which is why I haven't been posting much of anything recently.  
> Anyway, today is two important dates in the history of my Ao3 account. Firstly, it's the date I first started it! 2 years ago now, and isn't that crazy! I've been writing fanfic for two years! And you guys have been reading it! I can't get over that. Secondly, it's the day I posted the very first chapter of Midnight Messages (for the very same anniversary), which became my most popular fic as well as my longest piece of written work ever. So I figured what better day to release the sequel.
> 
> Also, if you haven't yet read Midnight Extras, the story preceding this one in the series, I'd recommend you do so. It contains several pieces of information that I assumed readers would know going into this story, and it will make one or two things clearer. Plus, it's spoiler free! 
> 
> Anyway, that's all I got for you guys.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Miss Lacroix, what can you tell us about the night of December 24th, 2068?”

 

Amélie looks across the room at the gorilla who asked the question, and feels the recollection swelling up to meet her.

A phone call.

His gun.

A perfect hole, right in his forehead, just starting to drip crimson blood onto the pure white sheets.

The scream that was forced deep, deep inside her, that she never got the chance to let out, that threatens to burst out even now.

 

She swallows it down, struggling frantically to compose herself enough to answer the question. The gorilla, and the rest of her judges, wait patiently… for the most part.

 

“That was the first night they activated Widowmaker.” Her voice drops almost to a whisper. “That is the night I killed Gérard.”

 

Winston nods, in a way that almost seems sympathetic. “Ahem. Amélie?” He sounds embarrassed. “We would like to know as much as you can recall about that night. Any details at all. We believe there might be some clues to Talon’s programming contained within the course of those events.”

 

Amélie nods. “If that’s what you wish to know, I can relate to you how they, _compelled_ me to act that night. They called the house, I picked up the phone, and they used the words.”

 

“What words?” the doctor cuts in, her blue eyes attentive, but pained somehow, as though this whole line of questioning hurts her.

 

Amélie shakes her head. “I do not know exactly what they were. It was part of the conditioning. They slip out of my memory as soon as they are said. The effect is quite… profound. If I’ve been reconditioned recently enough then they compel instant and complete obedience.”

 

“And if you haven’t been reconditioned recently?” the doctor asked.

 

Amélie gives a small smile at that. “It took a lot of practice, and many failures, but if I have enough of my will I can resist their compulsion.”

 

“How convenient,” comes a gruff voice from the far right of the room. The soldier wishes to say something it would seem. “Am I the only one who thinks it’s _too_ convenient. She tells us about these… trigger words, and then immediately tells us, ‘oh, don’t worry, they can’t make me do anything.’ I find that to be very, _very_ , convenient.” The words come out as a sneer, even with his mouth hidden behind that impenetrable visor.

 

“76, please,” Winston sighs, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a single large digit. The old man remains silent, apparently happy, or at least slightly less furious, having said his peace.

 

“Despite any doubts you may have, I have told nothing but the truth,” Amélie continues. “If you wish to check the veracity of my statements you still have Talon’s data on the Widowmaker project to check against. If I lie to you, you’ll know.”

 

“Does _that_ satisfy you 76?” asks Winston, leaning forward slightly in his chair to get a better look at the old soldier sitting slumped in his chair. The old man merely grunts in reply, turning his red visored face away from the gorilla. “Well, I don’t think we have any more questions for the moment Miss Lacroix. Thank you for your cooperation.” At this, Amélie merely nods. “Mccree, would you please escort Ms. Lacroix to her room?” Mccree steps forward, placing a hand on her shoulder, and the two turn to exit the chamber.

 

Room, not cell, she thinks to herself. Winston is trying to be kind. Make her feel like she’s not a prisoner. It’s a nice gesture. Amélie thinks about that small kindness as she and Mccree march through the winding corridors of whatever Overwatch base she has found herself in. No one has yet entrusted her with that information, and she doesn’t blame them for that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contact is made once again.

Stopping in front of her “room,” Mccree keys in the passcode and swipes a keycard through the slot before opening the door and gesturing for her to enter. Once they are inside, she turns around and feels Mccree’s hands go to her wrists, where he swiftly undoes her handcuffs.

“Merci,” she says quietly, rubbing her wrists, grateful for the relief.

“Don’t mention it,” the cowboy replies. “Least I can do.”

 

Mccree heads for the exit, but stops in the doorway and half turns his head so he can look at her out of the corner of his eye.

“You alright?” he asks. “They asked some pretty heavy questions this time ‘round.”

Amélie nods. “I will be fine. It’s only questions. They cannot match…”

‘Talon’

She lets the thought go unsaid, but Mccree seems to understand and gives a small nod. Taking the last few paces out the door, he relocks it and leaves her in her isolation.

 

That isolation lasts exactly one minute and twenty-eight seconds, and Amélie counts every single one of them. After that moment she judges it safe and moves over to her bed, removing a phone from beneath her pillow and sitting on her bunk with it cradled in her hands.

 

Her fingers move through the simple motions of unlocking the device and accessing the messaging program with almost trivial ease, habit forming unbreakable muscle memory over hours and hours of repetition. When she has opened the window she quickly keys in a brief message, waiting eagerly for the opposite party to receive and reply. She isn’t kept waiting long.

**They’ve finished with me for today it seems**

**Bloody hell**

**How long do you think they’ll keep this up?**

**I have no idea, and it’s doubtful they’d tell me even if I asked**

**We’ll simply have to wait it out**

**This is awful!**

**I’m in the same building as you for the first time in months without the need to pretend to kill you and I can’t even see you**

**It’s unfair >:(**

**I’m inclined to agree**

**I miss you**

**I miss you too love**

**Guess we’ll just have to wait a little longer**

**Is that not what I said?**

**Shut up :P**

**What’d they ask you this time?**

**Several things**

**Though they’re primary focus appeared to be on the night of Gérard’s death**

**…**

**You alright?**

**I know it’s not easy for you, going through that again**

**I’ll be fine**

**I knew it would come in time, so I was able to prepare myself for it**

**It was still…**

**Unpleasant**

**I think I will carry his ghost with me forever**

**As a former ghost, let me share a little secret**

**He doesn’t hate you**

**He understands**

**And he loved you then, so he’ll love you still**

**You don’t need to bear that weight**

**…**

**Thank you chérie**

**How do you always manage to lift my spirits?**

**To be fair, I’ve had a bit of practice**

**That is perhaps a little bit of an understatement**

**Maybe just a tad, yeah :)**

**But I’m happy to do it**

**And you’re always there to help me too**

**I suppose that’s true as well**

**God, why is it that every time we talk it’s about such depressing shit?**

**Perhaps you have a point**

**And might I say, that was a very subtle subject change**

**Thank you ever so :P**

 

The conversation takes a turn away from the darker areas of the past, and Amélie is only too happy to keep talking to the cheerful girl housed somewhere else in the very same building, allowing Lena’s demeanor to cross the link connecting their phones and seep into her own mind. For the first time that day she feels at ease, and the hours fly by as the two continue to speak, happy that they no longer have to worry about the constant threat of Talon over Amélie’s shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

She wakes with a start with the cowboy standing waiting at her open door.

Sitting up and rubbing her eyes, she looks around the cell, eyes skimming over the spot where her alarm clock used to be in her previous prison.

The question nags at her, but it’s been a few days now and the cowboy has shown no signs of hostility, so why not ask?

“What time is it?”

“Just about 9:30. Why?”

 

So she had gotten perhaps four, maybe five hours of sleep. That was unusual, in the best possible way.

 

“Curiosity I suppose,” she replies, keeping the reply vague on purpose. She doesn’t really want to go into detail about her near obsessive record of her sleep, checking the clock every time she woke in the night, watching it in the hours it took her to sink into slumber. The clock was a link, a constant. Now she is unmoored.

Adrift.

 

Lost.

 

She stands and turns her back to him, wrists crossed over each other, ready for cold steel to encircle her wrists.

And it does, but instead of cuffs she feels smooth metal fingers, gently moving her hands back apart.

“I’d be just fine cuffing you when we get to the meeting room instead of now. Y’know, so long as you’re not gonna try and make some darin’ escape attempt and leave me bloody on the floor.”

 

She turns slowly, examining the man and the thin olive branch he proffers. His eyes are careful, watching. She isn’t the only one conducting an examination. But she can see no way that this could hurt her, no way Mccree would have anything to gain, so she gestures to the door and follows him out.

Besides, a few more minutes without the cuffs is something she’d prefer. Despite the fact that she remains as much a prisoner with or without them, those simple loops of steel make her feel… trapped. It is much like how she felt for the years she spent under Talon.

 

Years that have come to an end.

 

They walk in silence down the maze of corridors, her keeper walking a few steps behind, eyes watching her carefully.  By now Amélie has the route memorized, every twist and turn engraved in her mind, so there is no need for Mccree to speak.

 

And yet he does anyway.

 

“Don’t stay up too late talkin’ to her. They’ve got a lotta questions for you and it’s gonna take some time. You need your rest.”

 

There is a hitch in her stride, and she is glad that he cannot see her face. She smooths the expression as she corrects her footing, and you would not have noticed anything wrong a second later.

 

But of course, the cowboy notices.

 

“Don’t worry. No one else knows and no one else is gonna know, not unless you tell them. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’, cross my heart.”

 

She doesn’t turn, but she bets he made the motion over his heart anyway. She gives no reply, just continues following the path she knows by heart.

 

When they reach the doorway to the room where she knows the rest are waiting, they stop and she crosses her wrists once again. This time the cuffs slide into place, sealing with a quiet but distinct click.

 

Before Mccree can key in the code for the door and admit them, she says quietly, “Thank you.”

 

She isn’t sure if she’s talking about not cuffing her until now or about keeping the phone a secret, or perhaps both. It doesn’t seem to matter, as the cowboy gives a quiet nod once, before turning back to the door and opening it with a few quick button presses.

 

Together, they enter the room, the door sliding shut behind them, sealing them in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know this is very slow, and I'm sorry. The fic in general is gonna take a while to ramp up, and I'm trying to make sure I write at well since it's something I've never really tried before. That's why I'm taking so long between updates, to give myself the time I need to deliver a product that isn't subpar.  
> I hope you guys are enjoying regardless.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the delay. I had a family trip sprung on me and was without my computer, so I couldn't upload. Anyway, here it is!

They are waiting, as they always are, and they have questions, as they always do.

The meetings don’t tend to change, they simply shift subtly.

Sometimes the soldier makes a remark. Sometimes the doctor interjects.

Sometimes they ask about the past, sometimes the future.

They do this dance again and again, going through the motions with the steps just slightly tweaked.

She wonders what they will ask of her today.

 

“Amélie,” starts the gorilla. He always starts things, apparently holding some kind of tacit leadership position. Sometimes it seems like he’s rather uncomfortable with his role, but from what she’s seen he appears to be holding things together well enough.

“We have some questions about certain personnel you may have encountered in the course of your time in Talon. If you don’t mind, we have some images to show you and we’d like you to tell us anything you know about the persons involved.” 

“Very well,” she says. In truth, she is glad of the change. In the last few days Overwatch has examined much of her past, having her recollect things she’d rather keep buried. Something as simple as looking at a few pictures is a welcome relief.

 

Winston swipes a hand across a datapad lying on the table in front of him, and a face appears 

hovering in the air between them. Amélie recognizes it immediately and can’t stop herself from smiling slightly.

 

“She would not be happy to know you have this photo. She treasures her secrecy above all else.” Amélie looks at the slightly blurry picture of Sombra, clearly caught by a helmet mounted camera while at high speed. Nevertheless her image is unmistakable. For someone who so emphasizes stealth, Amélie has always found her love of fluorescent purple and pink to be a bit counterproductive.

 

“So you recognize her?” Winston asks.

“Of course,” she replies. “Her name, or at least the name she goes by, is Sombra. If she ever had another then she chose not to share it with me.”

“What do you know about her?”

“Not as much as you might hope or expect,” answers Amélie. “I know that she is a hacker, a thief who trades in information and data. She specializes in stealth technology and has strong ties to Los Muertos in Dorado. I’m sure none of this is news to you.”

Winston nods.

Amélie smiles. “Something you may not have known is that as often as Sombra worked for Talon she was stealing from them.”

Winston sits forward in his chair. 76 splutters in an outraged manner. The doctor watches carefully, as do Amari and the omnic.

“What do you mean? Are you certain?” Winston asks, clearly not fully believing her yet.

“I am absolutely sure. She showed me some of the data she stole on certain occasions. Sometimes it pertained to me.” Amélie smiles, the smile of a predator, and she knows it. “Sombra has no loyalty except to herself, and she works for no one unless she has something to gain. Talon trusted her, like the fools they are.”

 

Winston doesn’t seem to know what to say. Amélie never thought she’d ever have the chance to see a gorilla gobsmacked, but apparently she was mistaken.

 

After a moment, a question seems to occur to him, and he reaffixes his gaze on her.

“Do you think she’d work with us?” he asks, and the question takes her so off guard that she thinks she probably looks like Winston did only a moment before.

 

“I…” she starts, but the sentence dies in her throat.  _ Would _ Sombra work with Overwatch? Even though Amélie thinks of her as a friend, and she would like to believe Sombra thinks the same of her, in truth there is much she doesn’t know about the other woman. Sombra is a liar, a thief, a charlatan, a puppeteer, but in her own way she is strangely moral. The incident with the Lúmerico CEO stinks of her work, and the entire goal was to bring a corrupt man to justice, even if he ended up being exonerated.

So the question remains. Would Sombra work with Overwatch?

 

“Honestly? I do not know,” she says. “Sombra is, and always has been, her own person. I think the only way any of us would ever know would be to ask her. Either she’d laugh in your face or take you up on it.”

‘Or quite possible both, knowing her,’ she thinks, and smiles a little.

 

“Hmm. Very well. Thank you.” Winston makes another motion on his datapad and a new face appears. This one is also familiar, but for worse reasons most assuredly.

 

“That is Reaper,” she says quietly, staring at the haze of black smoke billowing from the thick coat and from behind the owl-ish mask. There are not many things in life that scare her, but he is one of them.

 

“Yes,” says Winston. “It is. Can you tell us anything more?”

 

Amélie shakes her head. “I did my best to avoid him as much as possible. I thought it too dangerous. Whatever he was, I’m not sure how much of him is still human. I found it best to keep my distance.”

 

76 shifts in his seat, muttering under his breath. Amélie only catches snatches. “Traitor,” “Better off dead,” “Murderer.” She pretends not to hear, though she files the information carefully away.

 

Winston doesn’t appear to have noticed the soldiers comments, preoccupied with what she has told him of her experience with Reaper. He doesn’t appear particularly happy with her answers, or lack thereof, but he moves on without comment. Another swipe, and a new face appears.

 

It is familiar as well. Unpleasantly so.

“Akande Ogundimu,” she says. “Doomfist.” 

 

Winston looks rather resigned, as though he was expecting that answer.

“You know him then.” It is not a question.

 

Amélie nods. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Her mind flashes back. A meeting room with a shadowed figure examining her, assessing her, ordering her to be taken away. Looking into a pair of eyes that gleamed not with simple malice, but something much more terrifying. Intelligence. He was a maniac who believed his goals just, and was smart enough to achieve any task he set his mind to, with just enough cruelty to use any means necessary.

 

She has met him twice. It was enough.

 

Akande Ogundimu terrifies her.

 

She tells Winston so, adding in anything she can remember about him, his position in Talon, absolutely anything. When she is finished he seems pleased by the information. He examines her closely, as though trying to read her mind.

 

“Amélie, do you know of any recent events pertaining to Ogundimu?” he asks.

She shrugs. “The last news I had of him was that he had been taken into custody by Overwatch. By you.”

 

Winston shifts in his seat uncomfortably. Amélie feels the hairs prickling on the back of her neck. Something is wrong.

 

“Akande Ogundimu escaped from a maximum security installation run by Helix Security two weeks ago. We have had no news of his whereabouts since.”

 

Her blood freezes. She has met people so horrible that they almost cease to be human, but Doomfist is one of the worst. He is strong enough to take what he wants and smart enough to use it to the destruction of all who stand in his way.

 

“Merde,” she says quietly. She isn’t sure if Winston heard, but she thinks he’d be inclined to agree regardless. After all, he fought the man, hand to hand. Winston knew exactly what Doomfist was like.

 

“I’m guessing you didn’t know about this,” Winston says.

She nods weakly. “If I had known…”

‘I would have been terrified and that is all. There is nothing I could have done,’ she thinks.

 

The thought dies unsaid, and an uneasy silence fills the room.

 

After a moment, Winston coughs into his hand.

“Do you mind if we continue?” he asks.

Amélie nods.

 

He slides a hand along the data pad and a new picture is revealed.

 

Amélie freezes.

 

It is the face of her nightmares.

 

Through the pain and the treatments and every single review and calibration, she was there, a demon with her hands wrapped around Amélie’s neck, keeping her under her thumb.

 

“It’s her,” she says, voice barely clearing a whisper, and the words bring cold silence from the rest of the room.

 

“You know her?”

It is the doctor now, and there is an edge to her voice, something that is a next-door neighbor to fear and nearly lifts the blonde woman from her seat with the strength of it.

“How do you know her?” she asks. “How?”

 

She can feel herself shaking, tremors running through her in unceasing waves. “She’s the doctor,” she says, and her lips are starting to numb with cold. Her teeth chatter. When did the room become freezing?

“She is the one who did this to me.”

 

If uproar had an inverse, this would be it. The room fills with a silence full of unspoken shouting and cries of outrage that are all too silent.

 

She notices all this in the background of her mind. The majority of her is too busy focusing on the cold leaking into her limbs, stealing the feeling from her fingers.

Then her hands.

Then her arms.

Then her legs.

 

She feels herself collapse, but it’s far away, kept distant by the cold filling her up, cutting her off from sensation and emotion.

 

She hears shouting now, feels the ghosts of hands lifting her, as the cold creeps up her torso, past her neck, and into her mind.

 

And then there is nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that one's a bit of a kicker. Hope you enjoyed. And once again, sorry about the delay.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for leaving things on that cliffhanger. Enjoy!

She comes back to herself slowly at first, the first thing to enter her hazy mind the dull realization that she cannot remember where she is or how she got there. Once the true meaning of that thought registers she bolts into full consciousness, throwing herself from the unfamiliar bed and settling into a ready combat stance in a way that is far too practiced.

 

“Amélie?”

 

She doesn’t think, simply moves, and suddenly a pair of blue eyes are looking up into her own from the floor, their owner pinned to the ground by a pair of violet hands that Amélie takes a moment to realize are her own.

 

Those eyes are watching her, incredibly steady for someone who was just thrown to the ground by what would appear to all observers to be an enemy operative about to make a kill. 

Those eyes are looking at her. 

They are seeing her. 

They  _ know _ her.

 

“Amélie, it’s ok,” the eyes say, the voice female and faintly accented. “It is the 22nd of June, 2076. A little over a week ago Overwatch lead a strike team into a secured Talon base on a raid and found you in a highly guarded lab. They brought you back here, where you have been free of Talon’s influence since. You passed out in the meeting room three hours ago and we brought you to the medbay to treat you how we could and wait for you to regain consciousness. You are safe.” Those eyes stay locked on hers, projecting truth and surety and safety to bolster the words.

 

She feels her grip loosen and her hands pull away with no real direction from conscious thought. Her mind is too busy processing the words, feeling the reality of them click into place. She looks around clearly for the first time, registering the medical equipment, the IV drip dangling from its bag, the bed which she had just vacated and that is now covered in a tangle of bedding… and the blonde woman who owns the blue eyes that seem to know her, still on the floor where Amélie had pinned her, as though she is afraid to move. 

 

It is the doctor.

No. She has a name. She  _ knows _ her name.

 

“...Angela?”

 

Those eyes flash, with pain, with joy, and with all the other things that Amélie has seen swirling there in every interview but has never been able to put a name to.

She now knows one more of them.

It is recognition.

 

“I think I knew you?” she says, and as the words come out they stop being a question and become a fact.

 

A memory flickers behind her eyes, just a glimpse, but ironclad in its clarity. A hospital bed, Gérard lying motionless in it, a machine next to him displaying his vitals. And next to her, a hand held comfortingly on her shoulder, is Angela.

 

The doctor stands, slowly, as though she is afraid of startling her.

 

“Yes,” she says quietly. “You did. A long time ago.”

 

Slowly, she approaches and guides Amélie to sit on the edge of the bed. Amélie follows dully. Now that the knife edge of panic has left her, everything is registering sluggishly. Once she has been seated on her recently vacated cot, a question forms on her lips. She is not sure if she wants to know, but she knows she has to ask. Needs to.

 

“What happened?”

Angela looks at her warily. “Don’t you remember?”

She thinks back. What did the doctor say? She had passed out in the meeting room?

What had they been asking her about this time?

It comes to her after a moment. Known Talon operatives. They had shown her Sombra, Reaper, Doomfist, and…

 

“The doctor,” she says, and Angela’s expression is all the confirmation she needs.

“I’m not certain precisely what happened.” says Angela. “It could have been something in the modifications Talon performed on your mind and body, or it could’ve been an anxiety attack, or maybe something else entirely. What happened from your perspective?”

“It was just… cold. I felt frozen. My body went numb and my mind felt disconnected. Everything seemed to be happening far away.” She shivers at the thought. That sensation was all too like what it was to be reconditioned. Cold, devoid of thought and emotion, left without will.

 

Angela nods, and Amélie can see her mentally filing the information away, the doctor in her making sure to note any signs of illness or unrest in her patient. Which, Amélie is surprised to discover, she has apparently become. At the very least, she woke up in the medical wing with no restraints upon her, so perhaps her status has changed somewhat. 

There is a way to know for sure.

 

“Will I be returned to my cell now?” she asks.

Angela shakes her head. “Not yet anyway. I’ve requested time to run some tests, assess your condition more fully. I have most of the notes on the Widowmaker project we recovered from the raid, but a lot of the data is incomplete. My guess is that the main body of information was stored on the head doctors personal computer. She was always paranoid about someone stealing her research.”

 

The way she says that, commenting on Talon’s surgeon and making definitive statements on the nature of her character. It rings with a deep hurt, and a familiarity.

 

“Did you know her?” asks Amélie. Any information about the doctor is to be sought. She is the monster that made her. She wishes to know who to blame.

 

Angela sighs, and she looks weary. So, so weary.

“Yes,” she manages. “I did. A long, long time ago.”

“Then do you know her name?” she asks.

Angela looks at her in surprise. “You don’t know it?”

Amélie shrugs. “When would I have had an opportunity to learn it? Talon spoke little of her, and I was not in a position to ask questions during my days there.”

The blonde doctor nods her understanding, accepting the kernel of dark past written into the statement. 

“Very well. Her name is Moira. Moira O’Deorain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting fact for you all. I wrote the first chapter of Midnight Messages, which included a scene involving an unnamed female doctor experimenting on Amélie on July 10th, 2017. Moira O'Deorain was unveiled on November 3rd 2017. Which means I wrote about this character before Moira existed. It's like I left the spot open and Moira stepped into the role.
> 
> It's not important, but I think it's interesting.
> 
> Hope you guys liked the chapter. See you next time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late.

 

She spends the rest of that day and the following one in the medical ward. 

It is nice, almost. 

Angela runs many tests, drawing blood and checking her lungs and a hundred other things, but that is not of import. Needles cannot hold any fear for her, so the tests are simply a thing to be done quickly and efficiently.

The uncomfortable part is Angela, though she is in some way also a great comfort. It has been a long time since she was able to hold a simple conversation with someone without watching every word and taking care not to let herself slip. Her conversations with Lena have been almost entirely over text. It is nice to be able to just talk to a person as though she is human too.

But she can feel an undercurrent of… something, beneath it. The way Angela looks at her. It’s some strange combination of shock, joy, and, just maybe, guilt.

 

She finally addresses it on the morning of her second day in the medical wing, while Angela is taking her blood pressure.

 

“What happened?” she asks. “What happened after Gérard was found and I disappeared? Angela, you look at me like you don’t know who you are seeing. Why?”

And you look so guilty, she thinks to herself.

 

The doctors hands keep going through the motions, finishing up reading her blood pressure, her mind far in the past.

 

At last, once she has set the cuff and manometer aside, she looks up and meets Amélie’s gaze.

 

“What happened?” Angela says. “You want to know the truth?”

Her gaze falls to the floor, and her voice is soft.

“I failed you. That’s what happened.”

 

Amélie looks at her, not understanding what the doctor means. She tells her so.

 

Angela keeps her eyes down. “When they found you after all that time, they obviously wanted to have you examined. A physical and psychological evaluation. Who do you think they had review your condition?”

 

Realization dawns. “You.”

 

Angela nods. “Me,” she says simply. “And I couldn’t find anything wrong. Not one thing. You could barely remember what had happened, and I had no reason to keep you under observation for more than a few days, so Gérard took you home. And then he was dead and you were missing. And I knew it had to have been my fault.”

 

Angela is still talking to the floor, as though she can’t bear to meet the gaze of the woman who, in her mind at least, she doomed. 

“I didn’t find out just how horrible my mistake was until a few months ago, when Ana and 76 arrived. Before that, no one had made the link between the presumed dead Amélie Lacroix and Talon’s new sniper. And then she told us about what you had become, and I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that the woman I knew, my friend, could be capable of such things. And as it turns out, I was right.  _ You _ weren’t capable, but the creature they created was. But what you became, what they made you, is my fault. I should have seen it, should have stopped it. And now, it’s too late.”

 

There are tears leaking down Angela’s pale face, the story of her failing finally on display to the woman she failed. Angela starts to turn, to put distance between the two of them, when Amélie’s blue arms wrap around her and pull her close.

“You cannot blame yourself Angela. I won’t let you. The past is done, and there is nothing you can do to change it. You did everything you could then, and it is only with hindsight that you could know any better.” Amélie hugs her tighter. “It’s ok.”

Angela responds in kind.

 

Nine years later, and their tears can finally be shed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies once again. Apparently the constant flow of time and I aren't really on speaking terms.

Her return to her cell is almost welcome. As nice as it was to be relieved of the constant pressure of her internment, and no matter how nice Angela was to be with, being in the medical wing brings back far too many memories. Memories of light and pain and voices, and presiding over it, the doctor whose name she finally knows.

She shakes those memories free.

She has no use for them, not now.

 

Amélie sits on the edge of her cot, listening to the sound of Angela’s footsteps receding, a goodbye still lingering in the forefront of her memory. When she can no longer hear the echo of the doctor’s shoes bouncing off the corridors walls, she forces herself to count, slowly, to thirty.

 

Then, and only then, do her hands find their way beneath her pillow, closing tightly on her life line, drawing it slowly into the open. There is already a string of messages waiting for her, as she knew there would be.

**Hey**

**They done yet?**

**…**

**I guess not**

 

**What’s going on?**

**They usually don’t take this long**

**Where are you?**

 

**Amélie?**

**Why aren’t you answering?**

**Are you alright?**

**What’s going on?!**

Her heart aches. There was no way for her to respond to Lena during her stay in the medical ward, and that worry was a constant undercurrent during the last two days. She had no idea what would be waiting for her, and unfortunately, what she reads confirms what she expected. The messages that come after soothe the ache in her chest significantly.

**Jesse swung by and told me what happened**

**He said you’re doing ok**

**Thank god**

**I know I’m not gonna get an answer yet, but I figured I’d send this so you’d know that I haven’t been panicking the whole time**

**Just**

**Get back to me soon as you can**

**Jesse said it’d probably be a day or two at most so I’ll hold out till then**

 

**I miss you**

**< 3**

Her fingers are flying almost before she has finished reading through the old messages.

**I’ve missed you so much**

The reply comes quickly. It always does.

**I’ve missed you too luv**

And suddenly, everything is better.

Another message pops up.

**But if you ever do that to me again I will find you and I swear to god I will...**

**Ok**

**I don’t know what I’ll do**

**But it’ll be drastic!!!**

**Well I certainly wouldn’t want to cause any unspecified, incredibly dramatic and probably dangerous acts come to pass**

**You’re damn right!**

She laughs, and somehow she feels almost warm again. It is good to speak to her. It is always good to speak to her. The smile dies at the next words.

**What happened?**

**Jess said something about a theorized Talon operative?**

**What’s going on?**

She looks at the messages. What _is_ going on? Amélie isn’t really certain. She doesn’t know why she lost consciousness, what it means. She doesn’t know how this will affect her relationship with the reforming Overwatch and those who run it. She knows so little.

At least she can explain the basics.

**During an interview, Winston had me examine several photos to provide identification and any information I had**

**I passed out after seeing one of them**

**Who was it?**

She doesn’t want to answer.

She types it anyway.

**The doctor**

**The one who made me**

If they were speaking face to face there would be a pause here, as the information registers and the full situation becomes apparent to Lena. It is agonizing. A message comes eventually.

**I’m sorry Amé**

**That can’t have been easy**

**It wasn’t**

**At the very least I now know her name**

**Who is she?**

Her hands shake slightly as she types out the name.

**Moira O’Deorain**

There is another pause. Lena’s response is… surprising, once it comes.

**Her**

**God**

**That makes way too much sense**

**It does?**

**Unfortunately yeah**

**Blackwatch was compromised in a big way**

**Most of the organization we now call Talon grew in it**

**Like a parasite**

**I don’t know if Gabe and Jack knew, but they’re dead now so there’s no real way to know**

**But guess who was a pretty high ranking officer back in the Blackwatch days**

**The doctor**

**Got it in one**

**Though calling her a doctor might be misleading**

**What do you mean?**

**She got in a lot of trouble back in the day**

**Her experiments were deemed unethical, she nearly lost her license**

**Maybe she did**

**I dunno**

**Some of the shit she was doing…**

**It was messed up**

**She got picked up by Blackwatch shortly after**

**I suppose they saw it as a plus**

**Apparently the slimy bitch migrated to Talon after that**

Amélie looks at those messages. Something about the tone of them seems… off. They feel less like a recounting of facts, more like a judgement. A personal history of disgust.

**You speak as if you knew her**

**Caught that did you?**

**Thought I was being subtle**

**Lying is much easier without worrying about body language and inflection**

**There are still tells**

**The way you were talking…**

**No offense chérie, but you do not hate easily, and never so openly**

**It’s clear that you despise her**

**So you must have known her**

**…**

**It is bloody creepy that you were able to pick up on that**

**But yeah**

**I knew her**

**Wish I didn’t**

**What happened?**

**How did you come to know her?**

**Blackwatch recruited her about a year before I got recruited**

**She was pretty well established in Overwatch as one of the top docs**

**And then the Slipstream happened**

Understanding dawns, cold and clear.

**Merde**

**She was one of those who attempted to bring you back wasn’t she**

**Again with the mind reading huh**

**Yeah**

**She was**

**Amé, you shoulda seen it**

**Most of those bastards only thought about the science of things, the how and why**

**They didn’t care about me, except for Winston**

**That was bad enough, but her...**

**There was this one time I appeared and she was watching the chamber**

**And the look on her face…**

**To her I was just a lab rat**

**A test**

**A useful receptor for collecting data**

**She didn’t care about me**

**She only cared about what she could use me for**

**I was a stepping stone**

**A way for her to move forward**

**A tool**

That cold, clear realization sharpens, catches like a struck match and blazes into anger. It wasn’t enough for the doctor to destroy her life, her world. She tried to use Lena too. She allows herself to indulge in fury, hot as the sun, only snapping out of her rage when a new message appears.

**That sounds kinda like what she thought of you huh**

**Means to an end**

**A tool**

**Both of us**

Her anger fizzles, flickers, but doesn’t die. She doesn’t think it will ever die.

Not until the doctor does.

But for now, Lena needs her.

**It would seem so**

**Chérie**

**I don’t know what to say**

**But I am here for you**

**Always**

**You know that**

**:)**

**Yeah**

**I do**

**Thanks Amé**

**The same is true for you**

**If you ever need me I’ll be there**

**Don’t ever doubt that**

**I never will**

And she doubts she has ever meant anything more in her life. She will always be there for Lena. And she knows that Lena will always be there to catch her if she falls.

She smiles quietly in her empty cell, content to simply hold her phone in her hands and know that Lena is doing the same, the link between them unbreakable. The moment stretches on forever.

 

But forever ends, and the conversation moves on.

 

Lena catches her up on the last two days in brief, and after that they bid each other goodnight and Amélie returns the phone to its spot beneath her pillow.

Leaving a hand resting on the smooth metal surface, she slides gently into empty sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit short, I know. Sorry.
> 
> I also have an announcement in the end notes, so take a peek when you're done.

She wakes up suddenly and completely, and is unsure why at first. The footsteps echoing in the corridor approaching her cell answer the question for her.

 

They stop. There is the sound of a keycard being swiped and the passcode being input, and the door swings open to reveal the cowboy.

 

“You’re awake,” he comments, his brown eyes meeting her open gold ones.

“Very perceptive of you,” she replies. Amélie thinks she sees a faint smile twitch on his lips, but she might’ve imagined it.

“Very funny,” he says, all business once again, at least on the surface. “C’mon. They’re waiting.”

 

She stands, turning around and crossing her wrists as she has done again and again, waiting for the handcuffs.

As he did last time, Mccree gently pulls her hands apart.

“I thought we didn’t need those,” he says.

She nods. There is nothing else really for her to say.

She feels thanks welling in her throat.

His eyes say he understands.

 

They set out for the interview room again, the same old song and dance replaying once again. Mccree walking behind her with his hand on his gun, Amélie walking in front down the twisting corridors. She keeps her arms at her sides, careful not to make any threatening motions.

She does not wish to cause the handcuffs to be necessary again.

 

The question comes out of nowhere, breaking the background noise of their footfalls, and it is perhaps the last thing she expected him to say.

“Are you alright?”

 

She keeps walking, keeps her gaze fixed forward, but inside she wonders. Why does he ask? Is he simply probing for Overwatch as a whole? Or, just maybe, does he actually care? She is glad she does not have to meet his eyes. Hiding her thoughts is a challenge she does not wish to face.

“As I can be. It is a relative term, the way I am.”

He makes a small noise of affirmation.

 

“Have you talked to her yet?” he asks a few seconds later.

 

She waits a moment, debating whether or not it is safe to tell him. She hasn’t yet confirmed if he is right about her conversing with Lena. Is it wise to do so?

 

“Of course. As soon as I could,” she says. She is happy to see that she does not regret saying the words the moment they are out of her mouth.

“Good. She was worried about you.”

“I know,” she says, voice softening slightly.

 

If Mccree notices, he makes no comment, and the next 30 seconds until they reach their destination pass in silence.

 

On go the cuffs, the door is unsealed, and they walk through, the steps of the routine well memorized, like one of the dances she performed when Widowmaker did not exist.

She thrusts the memory aside and focuses on now, and those who are waiting for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT!  
> I am changing my update schedule. Now instead of uploading a new chapter every other Saturday, I'm moving it to EVERY Saturday! Yup! Every. Single. Saturday.
> 
> ...unless I run out of chapters.
> 
> But I don't think that's very likely, at least not any time soon. My buffer kept getting bigger and bigger without me really noticing, and eventually I came to the conclusion that I could speed things up a bit.
> 
> So... yeah. See you all next week!


	9. Chapter 9

The first thing she notices is the gorilla’s face. During these meetings she has noticed that he has great trouble disguising his emotions, and an inability to falsify expressions. The concern he wears is genuine.

She looks away, unable to hold his gaze. It hurts too much.

 

She scans the faces of the others. The omnic and the soldier are as impassive as always, their faces and their minds hidden behind masks. Angela looks as though she is trying to offer support with her eyes. Amélie smiles at her to show it is appreciated. Ana’s face looks far too impassive to be anything but purposeful disconnect, a wall to hide whatever she is really thinking. 

Of all those here, she has found Ana the hardest to read, in large part due to their personal history. Amélie, Widowmaker, took from her the life she once led. Learning that she was compelled to do so cannot possibly take the sting from that wound, from the years of pain it must have caused. The simple truth is, she doesn’t know what to think.

 

The gorilla clears his throat, pulling her attention back to him and she turns her eyes on him.

“Ms. Lacroix. Amélie. Are you alright?” he says, his gaze somber.

 

Again someone has asked, first the cowboy then the gorilla. Mere weeks ago they were enemies on opposite sides of a battlefield. Why do they care, after all she’s done?

 

“Why are you bothering to ask? Mercy already brought you up to speed,” comes a gruff voiced reply.

Even though it hurts, the old soldiers interjection feels more like what she expects from the members of the reforming Overwatch, more right. She almost hates that she feels that way.

 

She did not think that a gorilla could possibly  _ glare _ at someone with such anger, but Winston manages somehow. 76 seems nonplussed, and simply remains impassive in his chair.

 

The gorillas attention swivels back to her once again, that concern back in his eyes. 

“I am better,” she says. “Thank you.” She gives him a small smile, and he returns it after a moment. 

It lasts for a second, two. Then it breaks, and Amélie can see some semblance of a businesslike expression slide into place on his face, though that worry is still there behind his eyes.

Amélie marvels at that, the idea that she can read someone so well after so short a time. Yet she is certain she is right.

 

Winston clears his throat, and begins.

“To start with, I’d like to take a moment to address the incident that occured two days ago. Angela, if you would.”

Angela shifts herself forward in her chair as all the eyes in the room swing to her.

“As we’re all aware, two days ago Amélie Lacroix experienced an unconscious episode during an interview in this room,” she begins. “This episode was directly preceded by examining an image of Moira O’Deorain, who Amélie identified as being the doctor most prominently involved in the creation and supervision of the Widowmaker project.” 

Angela glances over at her, as if for confirmation of this fact. Amélie nods.

Angela continues.

“Amélie woke up slightly over three hours later and was kept under observation in the medical bay for that day and the next to look for any other ill effects and to run a few tests.”

 

“You mean she was kept in there to see if she was going to snap and start killing people like she did her husband,” cuts in the soldier.

Winston rounds on him to offer some kind of retort, and Amélie is surprised to see  _ Ana _ of all people reach a hand over and place it firmly on the old man’s upper arm. He falls silent with a grumble, and Winston turns back to business at hand.

 

Amélie’s thoughts are reeling. Is that what they thought? That some dormant programming had been triggered inside of her and that she would leave them bleeding out in the night?

The worst part about that worry is that Amélie isn’t certain that it is unfounded.

 

“Amélie, I’m sorry about that. We never meant any harm,” Winston starts, but she cuts him off.

“Do not be. It was a valid concern. I cannot be certain that they haven’t left any traps in my psyche, just waiting to be sprung,” A lump forms in her throat and she lapses into silence, focusing her eyes on the floor.

No voice breaks the quiet for a while. She can imagine them watching her, wondering about what she is thinking, about who she is behind the new face that Talon gave her and the new eyes that greet her whenever she looks in the mirror.

 

She does not have an answer.

 

The silence stretches on.

 

At last, Winston speaks. “Angela, if you wouldn’t mind continuing?”

“Of course,” she replies. Amélie is glad. Anything is better than being alone in her mind, even the cutting remarks of the soldier. 

 

Angela’s explanation continues. Amélie tunes it out, her eyes fixed on the floor, allowing Angela’s slightly accented english to create a soothing layer of background noise, a buffer between herself and her mind.

  
Something in Angela’s explanation catches in her ears, and her head jerks upright.

“What was that last part?” she asks.

“You remember I took a blood sample?” Angela asks, and Amélie nods affirmatively. “Well, I found that your blood was laced with nanomachines, based loosely on my own designs but modified heavily. I believe they are responsible for the color of your skin. They act to ferry oxygen through to your lungs at a controlled rate, I assume to allow Talon to increase your accuracy as a sniper and to have a way to control your actions. And if need be, they could simply lower your oxygen supply until you were manageable.”

 

“They did,” she says, and it takes her a moment to realize she spoke. She is unsure why at first. She had no knowledge of the nanites in her blood until now.

Or did she?

  
Memories swarm her. A night spent on the edge of asphyxiation, her oxygen levels controlled down to the barest molecule, keeping her on the cusp of death while being horribly aware. A face, the doctors face, smiling down at her and warning her not to run, not to try and escape again, because she would only make it two steps before she couldn’t draw enough breath to make her heart beat. 

She remembers that smile, that horrible, horrible smile.

 

She did not have that memory until now.

 

“Amélie? Amélie?!” A voice is calling out to her. She shakes herself out of the memories, her eyes focusing on Angela, her face filled with concern.

“I’m alright,” she says.

“I’m not sure you are,” replies Angela, her gaze looking her up and down, in doctor mode now. She turns to the omnic. “I don’t have my caduceus at the moment. Zenyatta, would you mind?”

“Not at all doctor,” says the omnic, his voice strangely pleasant, tinged as it is with metal. An orb detaches from the collection around his neck and floats over to her, settling over her head where it begins to glow with a warm golden radiance.

An instant later a sense of contentment flows into her. She doesn’t have words to describe it. She simply feels  _ good _ . Perhaps better than she has felt in some time.

“Thank you,” she says, her gaze flipping to the other end of the room where the omnic floats impassively. He gives a small half bow, but otherwise remains silent.

 

“I was just… remembering. Something I did not have a memory of until this moment.”

“And what was that?” Winston asks.

“The nanites. I knew about them. The doctor warned me about them, warned me that if I tried to escape Talon than she would bring me down using them. I think… I think she removed that memory from me, but some part of me remembered. I considered running from Talon on more than one occasion, but there was always something inside me warning me not to. I found excuses, reasons that made sense, but that feeling didn’t stem from them. It came from something I had been made to forget.”

It all makes a bit more sense now, the anxiety that even thinking about escape brought, even as the joy of possible freedom rang through her. Deep down, she had known what awaited her if she tried.

 

So why hadn’t the doctor made good on her promise?

 

“What I do not understand is why they did not do exactly that,” she says. What she really means is ‘I don’t know why I am still alive.’

 

“I believe I can answer that,” Angela says. “It has to do with when we found you. They were in the middle of… reconditioning you.” Angela’s features twist, as though ‘reconditioning’ is a vile swear. “The nanites were turned off for the procedure, and couldn’t be activated to take you down.” A dark smile flickers on Angela’s face. “Basically, we got lucky.”

 

Amélie cannot help but wonder at that. To think the nanites happened to be shut down at the exact time that Overwatch happened to find her. And that was ignoring the fact that Overwatch happened to find the location of a highly secured Talon research base where she happened to be, happened to find the lab she was housed in while she happened to be reconditioned, perhaps for the last time. It is far too coincidental, far too impossible. So many moving parts coming together perfectly. Something about it is off.

 

Amélie keeps herself silent on the issue. She has a theory, and it would be best if Overwatch were not to learn about her idea quite yet. They are already off balance enough from her arrival. Best not to upset what delicate balance is reforming.

 

Angela has continued with her explanation in the meantime, and Amélie forces herself to pay attention this time. It is mostly things she knows, or things she has suspected, and with the exception of the nanites none of it is noteworthy.

 

Eventually, Angela’s speech comes to a halt, and Winston bids her a polite thank you, before turning back to Amélie.

  
“If you don’t mind, we do have some questions we’d like to ask you briefly today,” he says.

“Of course,” she replies. Answering their questions is a way to gain their trust, and she grasps at those desperately. She wants them to know, and believe, that she means them no harm. She hopes it is still possible.

“Ask away.”


	10. Chapter 10

Winston, shifts in his chair uncomfortably. “I’m, that is,  _ we _ are sorry to bring this up now, but we feel it needs to be asked.”

 

“Whatever it is you need to know, please ask Winston,” she says. The chance to answer their questions is always good in her mind. It helps give them a window into what her life has been these long years, and it helps them to understand the simple and ultimate question of ‘why’.

 

“In the wake of recovering you from Talon’s base in Italy and the discovery of what we first assumed to be a double agent in Lena Oxton, callsign Tracer, this council was never able to apprehend the origin of the relationship between the two of you. We meant to bring it up on the day of your… incident, but then...”

“But then I passed out,” she supplies. 

 

A small chuckle escapes Winston. “Yes, I suppose that did put a wrench in the days proceedings.”

Suddenly he is all business again. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’d like to go over those events during this session.”

 

Amélie nods. “Where should I begin?” she asks, more to herself then to anyone else.

 

“I would suggest at the beginning,” a voice answers. Amélie turns to look at Ana. She has not said anything for the past several interrogations, apparently content merely to listen. Amélie wonders to herself about what prompted the change, before snapping her mind back to the task at hand.

 

“The beginning,” she muses to herself, facing Winston in the center of the room once again. “I suppose it began after the death of Tekhartha Mondatta. After  _ I _ killed him. That was the first time I met Tracer. Met Lena. And after that, she sought me out.”

 

“Why?”

It is Ana again.

 

Amélie turns towards her again.

 

She thinks back to the past, back to the darkest time of her life, right before light broke through the shadows of her prison.

 

Amélie smiles slightly, and her eyes mist with faint tears.

 

“That’s what she wanted to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one is a lot shorter than I expected. I made the cut between chapters here a while ago (this one's pretty old in the grand scheme of things), and I only just saw that I basically cut a transitional scene as its own chapter when this really should've just been part of the last one. I'm sorry about that, but I think we're all just gonna have to live with it.
> 
> In other news we're about to start a little mini-side story type thingy, which is a three chapter sequence I think of as "The Origin". It's pretty much what it sounds like. I'll see you guys next Saturday with the first installment of that.


	11. The Origin (Part One)

It started out as a simple question.

 

“Why?”

 

That was all she said. She asked it again and again, as they battled across rooftops and down narrow streets, when she had to shout over the gunfire and when she knew she was watching through her scope and simply mouthed the word.

 

“Why?”

 

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

 

Amélie cannot answer. She cannot tell this strange girl that she had been commanded to kill Mondatta, but her orders had ended after that, only stipulating a return to a pre-set rendezvous. 

 

She can’t explain that she didn’t  _ want _ to kill anyone, and any life she could avoid taking she did in a heartbeat.

 

She can’t tell her that the entire night was a blur, her consciousness so supressed that the only clear action she could take was a simple command of “NO” when her body moved to kill the girl, because this strange smiling daredevil should have a chance at life, even if the woman who had spared her had herself been robbed of it.

 

Instead Amélie finds herself pulling her fire subtly, her shots slowing almost imperceptibly. When she is brought in for review she explains about the enemy agents ability to teleport, and how it is making her difficult to shoot.

 

They giver her a touch up, trying to tighten her aim and suppress any returning emotions. 

 

She breaks out of it quickly enough. For some reason, she feels like she has a reason to now. She’s been making sure this girl stays alive for months now. She needs to break free from their hold quickly, or the lapse might be enough to leave her dead.

 

Somehow it works.

 

And always she keeps asking. Every battle, every meeting, every moment therein. “Why?”

 

And she can never answer.

◇ ◇ ◇

Eventually it is too much.

 

She tries.

 

Even as the voice long become familiar asks its one word question, her own lips form around words that she has picked after a great amount of agonizing over them.

 

“It was all I could do.”

 

The fighting slows to a halt. The smaller woman looks at her, her eyes piercing into her being, looking deeply. Too deeply.

 

Converting Widow’s Kiss to its sniper form, she takes aim at the stationary girl, who immediately ducks for cover behind a corner. Amélie lowers the Kiss, extending a grapple and pulling herself away from what had been a pitched battle moments before. In her visor she sees the girl, looking at her retreating form.

 

Amélie wonders what she must think.

◇ ◇ ◇

They see each other again.

 

The girl still talks. She  _ always _ talks. But now the words are different, a mix of questions and confessions, as though she’s trying to hold both sides of a conversation. She keeps going, even though Amélie never answers, never even acts as though she hears. 

Until one of the questions gives her pause.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

The words are shouted from around a corner where the girl is sheltering for a moment, catching her breath. Amélie is doing something fairly similar a few meters away behind her own makeshift barricade.

 

“I know your file says you’re called Widowmaker, but that can’t be your real name can it? What do people call you when you don’t need a callsign?”

 

She doesn’t even realize that the word has passed her lips until she hears it floating across the bullet marked expanse of their battlefield.

 

“Amélie.”

 

She starts in shock. How could she tell someone something so simple and yet so important. If Talon saw, if they knew that her name was her own once again, reconditioning would be assured. She glances around her cover, and sees that her enemy has done the same.

 

Brown eyes meet gold, each full of confusion and questions. But neither of them back down.

 

The girl nods once, then turns and disappears in a blur of blue light. Amélie watches her go, though she does not know why.


	12. The Origin (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing last week. I literally didn't realize until I went to upload this chapter. I'll try not to do it again, unless there's good reason for it.

Every time they meet, each time their dance resumes, the girl has questions for her. 

“Where are you from, what’s your favorite color, do you prefer cake or pie, do you own any clothes that don’t leave you a coat check away from starkers?”

  


She rarely answers. It is dangerous, and the danger compounds every time she succumbs to the desire for interaction, for contact, the chances of discovery growing with every word exchanged. But again and again she finds herself giving answers, though she keeps them as simple as possible. 

  


“France, red, cake,” and at the last one she allows herself a smile, though she covers it quickly. She knows that the girl noticed. She can read it in the excited grin that glows beneath eyes that are shining with delight.

  


Then a day comes when a question is asked that she did not anticipate, and cannot answer.

  


“Are you able to talk freely? Is someone watching you?”

  


At those words she stills. Freezes. 

It lasts a second. 

Maybe two. 

And then she is moving again, continuing the firefight as though nothing had happened. Inside she is rejoicing, because she  _ knew _ . This annoying little fool who had come time and again to bother her on the battlefield had figured it out, had understood, and by now Amélie knows that her pause will have been seen. The girl is beyond attentive. Every detail of their battles is recorded, every movement, every bullet, every word of dialogue. The fact that she so blatantly stopped, and then continued as though the incident did not exist will send a message.

  


The real question is what will happen next?

◇ ◇ ◇

The answer comes at their next meeting.

  


The girl is silent. More so then she has been since their dance first began. She asks no questions, merely chases her down with almost robotic efficiency.

  


It is almost unnerving. She has become used to their rapport, and now to find the instigator of their conversations silent… it is confusing to say the least.

  


That confusion is resolved when the girl appears behind her in a flash of blue and pins her to the ground. Amélie feels her press something small and rectangular into her hands, before she whispers “pretend to throw me off” into her ear.

Amélie doesn’t even nod, instead pushing herself up and off the ground and throwing the smaller girl off of her back and across the roof. 

She lands hard, or appears to, and gets to her feet shakily before turning and disappearing in a flash of blue as she retreats.

Without even looking, Amélie slides the object into one of her boots, masking the motion as she moves to pick up her gun from where it was thrown aside when the girl had tackled her.

  


Straightening, Amélie returns to the preplanned rendezvous spot, not taking so much as a single look back, making sure that any observer is none the wiser as to what has transpired.

◇ ◇ ◇

In the darkness of her room, with quiet care to ward off the watchful eyes of the camera above her, she examines the thing that the girl slipped her on the battlefield that day.

  


It’s a phone. Cheap and disposable, but with a few small, noticeable features. It’s battery shows signs of tampering or replacement, and prominently featured on the home screen is a messager icon with a little red one notification in the upper corner.

Holding her breath, she taps the icon, examining the window that expands to fill the screen. A single unread message awaits her.

  


**If I’m right, and you’re being forced to keep quiet, then hopefully you can talk to me here. It should be safer.**

  


Looking at the message, she dares to hope.

The girl had understood, had believed in the possibility, and had tried to find a way to help her.

  


Her hands move to key in a reply, to say something, to speak freely. 

  


She hesitates.

  


This girl… she had battled her for  _ months _ . They’re paths had first crossed when she had assassinated Mondatta, someone this girl idolized. Why would she go out on a limb like this, why would she involve herself in the affairs of an enemy agent?

  


The most likely answer was that she hadn’t. That she didn’t care.

  


In all likelihood, this was simply a trap.

  


Swiftly, Amélie turned off the phone, watching the light fade from the square in her hands. Quietly, she removed herself from bed and went to the wall furthest from the door and sat on the ground, leaning her back against it. Keeping her body between the camera and her movement, she felt along the wall, feeling for the seam in the panelling she knew was there. As quietly as she could, she lifted free the edge of the square and slipped the phone into the empty space, making sure the panel was closed and would not come free before returning to her bed.

  


The metal of the wall should dampen any tracking devices in the phone, if any existed that weren’t connected to the battery which she had shut down.

  


A small part of her wonders, even if it is a trap, why not let them spring it and take Talon? Why not let her captors be destroyed?

  


A smaller part of her mind warns of her fate if those who see her as an enemy find her. They will almost definitely dismiss a tale of subjugation and mind control, and she will be executed. That tiny part of her that believes in escape warns against it, tells her to hold out, not to sign her own death warrant.

  


She turns over in bed and tries to sleep.

  


It does not come easily.


	13. The Origin (Part Three)

She starts awake, eyes wide and staring, not yet seeing the darkened room around her, mind still locked on the past.

  
Slowly, reality reasserts itself, and the cold emptiness of her Talon room fades back into place, lit by the glowing 4:56 AM of her alarm clock. Slowly, she focuses on breathing deep and regular, allowing the continuous rhythm to wash away the fading terrors of the past.

In.

Hold.

Out.

 

5:01 AM.

 

Her eyes move across the room, taking in empty shelves, a barely used desk, the bedside table where her clock lies, before her gaze settles on a spot on the wall that has absolutely no defining features.

 

It has been a week, since the girl gave her the phone, and nothing has happened. Even if it did, what harm could it do? How could Overwatch be any worse than Talon?

The thought comes echoing from some deep part of her mind.

 

They could kill you.

 

She shakes it off.

She is already dead. What can they do? Besides, this is a better course of action than sitting in an empty room yet again, too afraid to sleep.

 

Moving over to the wall, she shields the cameras view of it with her body. She has taken pains within the last week to tread the same path, night after night. Talon has recorded bouts of compulsive, repetitive behavior after reconditioning. This will not seem out of the ordinary to them, so long as she keeps up the charade.

 

Slowly, quietly, always thinking about the camera, she pries a square of panelling free from the wall, reaching behind it and grabbing the small rectangle it hides quickly before sliding the metal sheet back into place.

 

Keeping her prize hidden in her closed hands, she moves back to her bed, retracing the same path she has for the last week. Sliding beneath the sheets, she lets her body take on a semblance of sleep, facing the camera, eyes gently closed. After a few minutes, she shifts, as though in her slumber, and turns so her back is to the watcher on her ceiling.

Slowly, carefully, she slides the phone up towards her face beneath the blanket, keeping it hidden at all times. She unlocks it, making her way through the chat client window, selecting the only contact entered into it.

 

She types out a message.

Holds her breath.

And hits send.

**Why did you give me this phone?**

She watches the screen in near silence, the only sound the quiet rhythm of her breathing as she maintains her false impression of sleep, and the various groans and mutters of the base around her.

 

Minutes tick by in quiet, and Amélie waits, the patience of a sniper now directed at the small square of technology resting in her hands.

 

And then, without warning or preamble, a quiet buzz rumbles through the device, and a reply appears.

**So I could do exactly this**

**Talk to you**

**You really expect me to believe that was it?**

**I mean, I HOPED you would**

**But no**

**I didn’t really expect it to be that easy**

**It seems that you are smarter than I gave you credit for**

**HEY!**

Amélie smiles.

A second later the smile drops into an expression of shock.

 

How long has it been since she did something as simple as smile from a conversation?

Apart from her brief clashes on the battlefield with this girl, it has been years.

 

This is far too worrying.

 

Turning the phone off, she pretends to wake up with a start for the audience above, looking around fearfully for a few moments before slowly stilling. Standing, she moves back to the wall, removes the panel, and replaces the phone in its hiding spot.

 

This time, when she returns to her bed, the performance of sleep the camera observers is real.

◇ ◇ ◇

She hasn’t tried to go to sleep tonight, merely put on the show for her watchers. Her mind is too occupied by other matters.

 

When she judges it is finally late enough, she moves from her bed, tracing the path to the wall and back as quickly as she can, clutching her prize tight in her hand. Taking up her position in bed, she unlocks it and reads through the messages that the girl left her after she turned the phone off the night before. A surprising volume greets her, the girl as verbose in text as she is in person.

**That’s a bit rude**

**Though it definitely beats getting shot at**

**You know. Again.**

**You there?**

**Helloooooo**

**Anyone home?**

**Well, I’ll text you tomorrow**

**Talk to you later**

 

**Are you there?**

**I think we got off on the wrong foot**

**I’m Lena by the way**

**I’d feel kinda silly being called Tracer over text with you**

**You said your name was Amélie**

**Is it alright if I call you that?**

**It’s nothing personal, but Widowmaker is a bit over the top don’t you think?**

**Guess I’m talking to myself here huh**

**Alright, well…**

**I don’t know**

**I want to talk to you**

**Clearly there’s something going on here**

**I just want to know what it is**

**And even if you can’t tell me for some reason**

**I’d still like to talk to you**

**If you’re willing**

 

**Oh my god I’ve sent so many messages**

**Alright**

**Well**

**Yeah**

**Please say something**

**But watching you flounder is so amusing**

**Why would I interrupt that?**

**So you HAVE been watching**

**That’s rather cruel**

**Actually, no**

**I just opened the phone at this moment and got caught up**

**It was a joke**

**Woah!**

**You’ve got a sense of humor?!**

**…**

**Apparently**

**I didn’t know it myself**

**So**

**It is Lena then**

**If you like!**

**So, is Amélie ok?**

**I suppose so**

**Alright great!**

**It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance Amélie**

**You know without having to dodge gunfire :)**

**It’s certainly a bit of a change of pace isn’t it**

**No kidding!**

They continue for close to a half an hour more, and Amélie finds herself enjoying the simple conversation more and more. When their talk reaches its conclusion, she replaces the phone in its hiding spot and returns to her bed.

 

When she wakes the next morning she is surprised to have noticed she even fell asleep.

◇ ◇ ◇

It has been weeks.

She keeps telling herself that she shouldn’t do this, that the risk of discovery is too great, that the possibility of a trap is still there, but she can’t seem to find it in herself to end things.

 

She is careful, leaving days in between contact, as many as she can stand, and always she is watchful of the eyes that she knows are always on her. She tells herself it’s enough.

But it gets harder and harder to go a night without her.

 

She seems to make the nights shorter, the fear more palatable. A quick message after a particularly bad nightmare is often enough to get her feeling more grounded in reality then she does any other time.

  
Talking to Lena makes her feel better.

 

Occasionally Lena will ask questions. Sometimes they are simple things, about her likes and dislikes and other such trivial topics, and she is happy to answer them.

Other times she asks about Talon, about the power dynamics and their bases and the organization's weaknesses.

She tells Lena what she can, the little she knows and what she believes won’t be traced back to her. Caution is important.

Sometimes she asks about what they did to her, how they made her the way she is. Here Amélie is more cautious than in any other area, some innate sense warning her not to share too much. After all, this could be a trap, a voice whispers deep in her mind. She could just be using you for information. She could be trying to capture you.

 

She shakes that voice off. It is a liar. Lena, more and more, simply talks to her. No pressure for information, no trace of their “work” as Lena puts it. Simple, honest conversation.

 

It’s the first time Amélie has had a chance to just talk to someone in a very long time.

 

Lena is always asking questions, and tonight is no different. The difference is that these questions lurk around the edges of a truth she doesn’t know if she can share.

**Why do you always text me around this time?**

More messages follow.

**We’ve got a guess at where Talon’s got some of its bases**

**If we’re right then it’s sometime in the early hours of the morning for you**

**So why now?**

**Is this the only time it’s safe for you to talk?**

Amélie looks at those words, fingers poised above the keyboard, and realizes that she wants to tell her the truth, that she trusts her enough to do so.

The thought terrifies her. Growing close to her means she has something more to lose.

But she types the words anyway.

 

**In part**

**But there is more**

**You are right, it is not yet dawn here**

**I am texting you now because I woke up and I will not be returning to sleep**

**Why’s that?**

Last chance. Last chance to back out.

She hits send.

**I have nightmares**

**Almost every night**

The reply comes minutes later, but it feels like an hour.

**You too?**

She stares at the message in surprise. With how she acts on the battlefield, you would never think that Lena is affected by what happens to her.

 

Apparently there is more there than meets the eye.

**You are the same?**

**Yep**

**Been dealing with it for years now**

**I had some problems before the Slipstream, but afterwards it got worse**

**A lot worse**

**Barely a night went by that I didn’t wake up at least once**

**Sometimes it’s still like that**

**I’m sorry**

**I didn’t know**

**It’s alright**

**How could you have?**

**I rarely tell people who I’ve been close with for years, and we only just started talking**

 

**Actually…**

**If you ever want to talk about it**

**About your dreams**

**I’d be happy to help you out**

**It can help a lot sometimes just to talk it out**

**It’s fine if you don’t**

**Or can’t**

**But, y’know, I’m here for you if you want**

**…**

**Thank you**

**I do not exactly have many people I could share this with**

**Please, if you ever wish to do the same**

**I’d be more than happy to listen**

**I’ll hold you to that!**

**Now, let’s talk about something a bit less depressing**

**That ok with you?**

**Completely**

Time passes in a flurry of messages. Dawn breaks, and they bid each other goodbye, Amélie returning the phone to its hiding place until it is time to speak again.

 

And when next she wakes with fear clouding her mind, she has somewhere to turn to.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the lateness.

Her tale ends, and silence reclaims the room. Amélie is happy to sink into the warm emptiness of it. Her throat is dry and pained from the long stretch of continuous speech.

 

She looks around the room, examining her questioners. The omnic and the soldier are unreadable, kept impassive by their masks. Winston seems to be trying to wrap his head around it all. Ana looks as though she is calculating everything. Angela is… yes, she is certain. Angela is smiling faintly. Amélie smiles back.

 

The moment stretches on for a time, unbroken as the council before her takes stock of all she has told them. Amélie has no wish to break it, and eventually it is Winston who does.

 

The gorilla clears his throat, drawing the attention of everyone in the room out of their own thoughts and back to the present.

 

“Well…” he starts, but he leaves the sentence dangling, as though he himself is not sure what to say or where to begin. “Thank you Amélie. You’ve been very cooperative.”

 

A touch of a smile appears on his face. “Actually, that brings up something I’ve been wanting to inform you of. We have decided that you are to be given a bit more leave in your stay here.”

 

Amélie feels a sharp jerk in her chest. She supposes it must be hope, though it has been so long time since she has felt it that she can barely recognize it as such. She strives to keep it controlled, to stop herself from building up hopes that will inevitably be torn down.

But still, she hopes.

 

“What, exactly, do you mean?” she asks carefully, doing her best to keep her voice plain and emotionless. She has had much practice at that, and it is not difficult to slip back into that habit.

 

“In essence, you will be permitted to remain in the common areas of this Watchpoint, as well as being given a more proper room to replace your current… ah… accommodations.” 

If he were human, Amélie is sure Winston would be flushing scarlet. He coughs once, then continues. “In addition, we are requiring that while you are in any common areas that there be at least one member of Overwatch present to…”   

 

“Guard me?” she asks, a faint smile twitching at her lips.

Winston starts to stutter a reply, but she cuts him off. “It is alright. I understand. All the measures you have proposed are completely reasonable. Honestly, you would be foolish to trust me so easily. Are there any more restrictions I should be made aware of?”

 

Winston nods. “In addition to what I have already stated, you will not be allowed access to any communication with the outside world, and Athena will be monitoring your movements.”

“Athena?” she asks.

 

A screen pops up next to Winston, and a triangular shape with the name Athena beneath it appears. 

“Hello Amélie. I am Athena,” a voice projects from the speakers. At the same time the triangle lights up with lines of pulsing dots, matching the voices tone and volume.

 

“An AI?” she asks. Winston nods.

“Say hello,” he encourages.

She looks at the screen bearing the Athena icon, then shrugs and says “Hello Athena.”

The Athena window disappears once again.

 

“Is that all?” she asks. She can scarcely believe it. A guard and monitoring, in exchange for release from her cell. That’s more than she could have hoped for.

 

“Yes,” Winston replies. “So long as you don’t do anything drastic like attempt to exit the base or kill someone, you will be allowed considerably more freedom than you had previously.”

 

“Which  _ I _ for one think is a terrible idea.” The soldier speaks up once again.

 

Winston sighs. “We’ve been over this 76. She has acted in exact compliance with our every stricture up until this point, has committed no acts of violence or aggression or anything even remotely suspicious, and she spent two days in a lowly guarded medical ward supervised by only Dr Ziegler and made no attempt to step beyond the faith we placed in her. That at least is indicative of deserving a bit of trust on our end, at least to me.”

The soldier harrumphs. “I still think this is a disaster waiting to happen.”

“And your complaints have been duly noted, and ignored,” replies Winston.

 

Amélie struggles to stop from chuckling at that last comment.

 

Winston turns back to face her. “Do you understand Amélie?”

She nods.

He smiles at her. “Excellent. Unless you have any questions then I suppose we can call this meeting adjourned.”

 

She draws a breath, and forces herself to speak before she loses her nerve.

“Actually, I do have a question.”

 

Eyes turn back to face her.

 

She stares each of them in the eye in turn, forcing her gaze level and even.

 

“Will I be permitted to see Lena?”


	15. Chapter 15

The room descends into silence, broken only by a short bark of laughter from the old soldier, but he lapses into silence a moment later.

 

“Amélie,” Winston says after a stretch, picking his words carefully. “We… don’t know. The situation with Lena is precarious, to say the least. Your relationship with each other created a tenuous set of circumstances. For now, the best I can say is wait. We’ll see.”

 

Amélie nods, the lump in her throat preventing her from speaking. She was not expecting anything less if she is honest.

But it still hurts.

 

She feels a hand come to rest on her shoulder, and she allows Mccree to lead her from the meeting room and into the halls of the base. They stop outside once the doors slide shut and Mccree removes her handcuffs. Amélie mutters a quiet thank you, and then the two begin the long walk through the maze of corridors.

 

It takes Amélie a moment to realize that she knows where they are going. They are heading back to her cell. Or, former cell. According to Winston it will hold her no longer. So why are they going back?

 

A minute or two later they arrive, and Mccree unlocks the door. Amélie stands outside, looking in, unsure of what is happening. Is she being locked up again?

 

Mccree must have seen her expression. “Relax,” he says. “We’re just picking up something of yours.”

 

Realization dawns in Amélie’s mind, and she quickly moves to her cot, retrieves her phone and returns to the waiting cowboy. Without another word he turns, leading her down a new pathway to some other wing of the facility.

 

“How did you learn about it?” she asks after a time. It has been nagging at her for awhile, the fact that Mccree knows of her new phone while none of the others appear to. She has been careful, and she is certain there are no monitoring devices within her cell. She has spotted dozens of surveillance cameras in the hallways, and in the meeting room they’ve brought her to time and again, but she is certain that no such device watches her within the confines of her cell. Perhaps they care not for her behavior so long as she remains within their walls. There has been nothing to give her away, and the fact that none of the other members of the reformed Overwatch have apparently discovered it makes it all the more strange. It is peculiar.

 

Mccree keeps walking, and he remains facing away, but she gets the impression that he’s smiling.

“Who do you think left it there for you to find?”

 

Her face remains steady and expressionless, but inside her mind is reeling.

“You?” she asks, a note of incredulity entering into her tone.

 

This time he chuckles slightly. “Me,” he replies simply. “As a favor to Lena. I knew she wouldn’t betray us, that there had to be something going on. I got the story, or most of it, out of her, and she asked me to bring you that so you wouldn’t have to be alone.”

 

She can feel tears just under the surface. That foolish girl. Still risking her own safety for Amélie’s sake.

 

“You might notice that pretty much every other function on that thing has been disabled. Just because I trusted Lena didn’t mean I trusted you.” He throws a look back over his shoulder, brown eyes meeting gold. “No offense of course.”

“None taken,” she replies. She means it.

His eyes face forward once again. “That thing’ll work just fine talking to her, but won’t do jack all otherwise. No textin’ other numbers, no internet access, no nothin’. An old friend from Dorado taught me a few tech tricks a long time ago. Comes in pretty handy sometimes, though I wouldn’t dare tell her that. She’d never let me live it down.”

 

Mccree lapses back into silence, and that is how it remains until they reach a plain looking door along a corridor of identical ones.

“This’ll be yours,” he says, and pushes it open. She walks inside, looks around. 

A plain bed made up with clean sheets. A desk against one wall with a matching chair in front of it. A dresser standing against one wall. A shelf that’s currently empty bolted to one wall, and a nightstand with a digital alarm clock on it. The accommodations are simple, serviceable.

But they are  _ hers _ .

 

Mccree remains in the doorway. “They’re gonna want you back for more questions tomorrow, probably around 9:00,” he says. “I’ll drop by a bit before that, say 8:50, and walk you over. After they’re done I’ll give you a tour of the rest of the common areas if you’d like.”

 

“That would be very kind. Thank you Mccree,” she says.

 

“If you don’t mind, I’d be perfectly happy havin’ you call me Jesse,” he replies, eyes level and searching.

 

She nods. “Jesse. I look forward to tomorrow.”

 

He tips his hat to her, and then leaves, closing the door behind him.

 

Once he has left, she sits on the edge of the bed and tries to wrap her head around today's newest developments.

A moment later, she reaches into her pocket and removes her phone.

Opening up the chat window, she begins to type.


	16. Chapter 16

The buzz of the alarm clock brings her to instant awareness. She shuts it off and sits up, the confusion about her change of setting slipping away as she remembers the previous days discussion a moment later.

 

As it slowly comes back to her, her mind hitches on something Angela said when she was explaining her findings thus far, before she told the story of how she and Lena began to talk. A sequence of events that had one coincidence too many in a way that was all too familiar.

 

Pulling her phone from beneath her pillow, Amélie opens up the messager app and accesses a nameless contact whose profile is the image of a skull.

 

She has some questions.

**I need to ask you something**

An answer isn’t long coming. Sombra and her tech are quite literally inseparable.

**Information is what I trade in**

**Though it usually costs**

**Nice to hear from you too by the way**

**I’m not joking Sombra**

**But it is good to speak to you**

**Fine, I’ll make an exception**

**No charge, but only cause you’re cute**

**What do you need to know?**

**My rescue**

**There are one or two details that lined up suspiciously well**

**That’s not even bringing up the fact that Overwatch found that base at all, and on the same day I was being reconditioned no less**

**I’m guessing you’re not innocent in this**

**A simple thank you would’ve worked**

**But yeah**

**I had a hand in some of the finer points of that debacle**

**How** **did** **Overwatch know where to find me?**

**I sincerely doubt that you leaving them an anonymous tip would’ve worked**

**You’re probably right about that**

**Lucky for me I didn’t need to**

**I had my own little leak who was scared out of her wits for you**

**Worried enough to come to the big bad hacker for help**

**Lena went to you?**

**What did she say?**

**See for yourself**

A file appears. Amélie clicks on it, revealing a log of a conversation between Lena and Sombra.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Sombra**

**I need to talk to you**

**It’s urgent**

**Well well**

**I didn’t expect to see you talking to me willingly**

**Why on earth are you?**

**It’s Amélie**

**Something’s happening**

**She said Talon was going to give her a hard reset**

**Now she’s not answering me**

**…**

**She said goodbye**

**Like she was being led to the guillotine**

**Like she was heading to her death**

**Shit**

**Shit shit shit shit shit**

**This shouldn’t be happening**

**I’ve been monitoring Talon’s internal affairs**

**They weren’t going to bring her in for review for MONTHS**

**I was planning on getting her out before then**

**What changed?**

**WHO CARES WHAT CHANGED**

**SHE’S ABOUT TO DIE**

**WE NEED TO DO SOMETHING**

**Never thought I’d have cause to agree with Tracer**

**But you’re right**

**…**

**Can you convince Overwatch to raid a Talon base?**

**If it’ll help Amélie I could put out the sun**

**Now that I believe**

**Ok, this is the location of the base they’re keeping her**

A string of coordinates follows.

**If you can get a force there I can nullify most of their major defenses and deactivate most of the crap they put into Amé**

**You’ll have to get her out though**

**And convince your allies to take an enemy agent with them**

**I’ll manage somehow**

**Thank you**

**Thank me if you can get her out**

**And you damn well better get her out**

**I’ll keep an eye through Talon’s network and help how I can**

**Thank you**

**Wish me luck**

**Buenas suertes chica**

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Amélie reaches the bottom of the file. She pauses for a moment, trying to process what she has just read.

She is not sure if she had more questions before she read it or after.

A new message comes through from Sombra.

**You done reading yet?**

**Yes**

**That answer your questions?**

**Some**

**It also gave rise to more**

**Ugh**

**Course it did**

**I don’t have all day araña, what do you still want to know?**

**To begin with**

**You were trying to get me out?**

**Well…**

**Yeah**

**I thought that would’ve been obvious even without what you just read**

**I’ve been trying to find a way to break you out since I realized there was someone in there besides the puppet**

**Didn’t get the chance until now**

**I...**

**Thank you Sombra**

**Oh shut up**

**I have a reputation**

**So do you for that matter**

**Is there anything else?**

**With you there are always questions**

**Means I’m doing my job right**

**What’ve you got?**

**In that file**

**You said that Talon wasn’t going to recondition me yet**

**That something changed**

**Did you figure out what happened?**

**Unfortunately yes**

**…**

**You’re probably not gonna be happy to hear this**

**Tell me anyway**

**Alright**

**About a week before you were reconditioned something game changing got introduced**

**He goes by the name Akande Ogundimu**

**Doomfist?**

**Wait**

**He escaped prison directly before I was reconditioned**

**Are you saying what I think you are saying?**

**Unfortunately yes**

**When Doomfist took back his position on Talon’s council he decided to reevaluate all of the organization's assets**

**And I was one of those assets**

**You know I don’t think of you like that right?**

**Of course I know**

**But it does not change the fact that I was just a thing in their eyes**

**A useful tool to be played with**

**I hate to say you’re right** **  
**

**But yeah**

**That’s what happened**

**Thank you for telling me**

**You’re welcome**

**But I don’t work for free you know**

**And what pray tell do you want**

**How about to hear from you without you wanting something?**

**I do miss you araña**

**It’d be nice to talk to you**

She feels a smile quirk at her lips.

**Sombra**

**That could almost be characterized as**

**Compassionate**

**You tell anyone and your nudes get leaked!**

**I don’t have any nudes**

**Oh yeah**

**Shit, that usually works**

**Now what am I supposed to hold over your head as a threat?**

**Eh, I’ll think of something**

**My lips are sealed, do not worry**

**I will talk to you soon Sombra**

**TTYL Amé**

She slides the phone back into hiding and checks the clock. She set the alarm to wake her early. She doesn’t like to be startled. It’s just 8:45. Mccree… no. Jesse now, will be arriving soon.

She sits back to await him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited return of the Sombra text! Isn't that wonderful! Well not for me, because I had to go though line by line and code it into purple. As always though, the end result is well worth the minor inconvenience. Hope you guys enjoyed. See you next week.


	17. Chapter 17

Mccree arrives as the LED display flicks from 8:49 to 8:50, a quick set of knocks on the door indicating his appearance. The thought that he was simply waiting outside in the hallway until the designated time to enter flickers across her mind, and she files it away for later pondering. It has no impact upon the current situation, which is the fact that Mccree is standing waiting outside her door. She stands up to admit him.

 

He tips his hat to her when she opens the door as a greeting and she returns the sentiment with a nod, but he remains on the other side of the door frame for no reason that she can see.

 

“You ready to head out?” he asks. His eyes flick to her clothes, then back to her face. “Guess not. I’ll give you a minute to change.”

“Change? Into what?” she asks. She is still clad in the same style of orange prison garb she was wearing when she woke in her cell. Clean replacements were supplied regularly, but she was not provided with a new one upon her transition to her new quarters.

“You mind if I come in?” Mccree asks. 

She steps aside and waves him in. He walks over to the empty dresser standing against the wall, or the one she assumed was empty. When he pulls open one of the drawers it reveals several clean changes of clothes. Not the garish orange outfit she has been wearing since her arrival, but actual, normal clothes.

 

“Laundries down the hall next to the bathroom, third door on the right. I’ll show you after the interview.” Mccree says.

“Thank you,” she says, the words coming out quieter than she meant them.

“No problem. I’ll let you change,” he says, and the door shuts behind him.

 

She grabs the items on top of the stack and shucks off the jumpsuit, changing as quickly as possible. They fit her perfectly, and she can’t say she’s surprised by the fact.

 

She takes a moment to straighten the hem of the new shirt before opening the door and joining Mccree in the hallway. He gives her a fleeting smile upon her entrance.

“Better?” he asks.

“Much,” she replies. 

 

A question nags at her mind. “Will the handcuffs be required?” she asks. Her hands circle her wrists absentmindedly, and it takes her a moment to realize she’s doing it and put a stop to it.

 

“Nope. Not even in the meeting room this time. Guess you’re doing something right,” he says.

She grins. “You mean not killing anyone?” she asks.

He chuckles. “Yeah, that’s definitely a step in the right direction.”

 

They start the walk to the conference room, and the silence that descends is comfortable. The path they take is new, and this time Mccree leads the way. This time, she notes, his hand hangs next to his gun, not on the butt as it did before. He is still in a position to draw if he needs to, but he is not expecting to need to.

 

He has started to trust her.

 

Her face is impassive, but inside she smiles.

 

They arrive a few minutes later, and Mccree unlocks the door as he always does, gesturing for her to enter once it slides open. She walks in, head held high, expression composed, prepared for another barrage of questions about anything Overwatch might wish to know.

 

And she stops dead at what she sees.

 

In that instant the conference room ceases to exist. The people watching her with silent expectation disappear. The entire world becomes a hazy backdrop to the only thing in that room that she notices, the only thing that matters.

 

Because standing there, looking at her with the same intensity she is sure marks her own face, is Lena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a bastard. I'm aware. Sorry.
> 
> Happy Pesach to any of my Jewish readers, happy Easter to any of my Christian readers, and happy Saturday to anyone outside of those two groups.
> 
> See you all next week.


	18. Chapter 18

Words fail her. She simply stares.

Lena stares back, just as dumbstruck it would seem.

The moment stretches on into infinity, and then the rest of the world falls back into place with the force of a car crash when Winston clears his throat.

 

Amélie looks around in a moment of brief confusion as her surroundings register once again. The assembled members of Overwatch are staring at her openly, examining her reaction and calculating what it means. She tries to steady herself under their gaze, tries to compose the impassive mask she wore for years… and it all falls apart the instant her eyes lock with Lena’s once again.

 

Amélie looks her over, examining her for injury, for strain, for anything out of the ordinary. There are dark circles under her eyes, but other than that she looks ok. Mentally, she lets go of a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

 

Someone says something, and she snaps back to reality once again.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” she says, forcing her eyes away from Lena and onto the assembled council before her.

 

Winston speaks again. “I asked if you had anything you wanted to say to Tracer, or to us.”

 

Amélie thinks for a moment. Her eyes gravitate back to Lena. 

“Are you alright?” she aks. It’s the only question that really seems to matter right now.

 

Lena nods. “Are you?” she asks. Amélie nods in return.

 

Amélie forces her eyes back to Winston. A question actually has sprung forth in her mind and she wants answers. “You have kept us apart from the moment that I was captured. Why are you allowing us to come into contact now? Has something changed?”

 

“A few things,” Winston replies. “For one, your actions while you’ve been here have put us in mind that you really do mean no harm to anyone in this organization. That, and we’ve also had a chance to fully process Talon’s data on the Widowmaker Project and the text logs of the conversations between the two of you. We can find no evidence that this is a trick or a trap, that Tracer ever leaked any information to Talon, or of any other suspicious activity. In fact, we’ve seen a few times where you gave information on Talon to Lena, not the opposite. In essence, you’re innocent until proven guilty, and we can find nothing either of you are guilty of.”

 

“Doesn’t mean that there isn’t anything,” says the soldier from his usual spot.

Lena’s head snaps over to look at him. “Shut up 76. Enough of your bullshit,” she says. Anger is radiating off of her like heat. Clearly the relationship between the two is strained at best.

 

Amélie flicks her eyes over to Lena, doing her best to tell her to be still without using words. Both of their standings with the new Overwatch are on shaky legs, and she doesn’t want to hurt either of their chances at being accepted into whatever is forming out of the rubble of the old group.

 

“Thank you Winston,” she says. The gorilla nods in acknowledgment and opens his mouth to say something else, but she is not done talking, not yet. There is more she needs to know. 

“If you’ll give me a moment I have something more to ask.”

 

Winston shuts his mouth and waits.

 

“You say we are innocent until proven guilty, but in terms of our situation, what does that actually mean? I don’t even know whether you imposed restrictions upon Lena during this time, or if you kept her in a cell like you did me. And now that we are apparently ‘innocent,’ what will happen?”

 

Winston appears to collect his thoughts for a moment, then he starts in. “To begin with, since your recovery from Talon, Le-.

Tracer has been confined to her quarters unless she was under watch. As to what  _ will _ happen, that will in part depend on you. Both of you,” he says, eyes switching over to Lena. She refuses to meet his, preferring instead the ground between her shoes. 

Winston turns back to face her, though there is now a new sadness in his eyes. “You remember the new terms of your stay here that were laid out to you yesterday? For now, that is what will happen. You will be allowed restricted access to certain areas of the base while under escort, and we’ll go from there. Given time, I hope we can get past these formalities entirely, but for now, that is where we stand. Similar restrictions are being imposed upon Tracer.”

 

“If you ask me that’s not enough.” 

The soldier seems to feel chatty today.

“Well no one did ask you, did they 76?” fires back Lena.

“Well at least I didn’t go turncoat and start communicating with the enemy Oxton,” replies the old man.

“Oh fuck  _ off _ ! I talked to her! She was alone and hurting and I did the bare fucking minimum of human decency by sparing her a kind word, and ever since I told you lot you’ve treated me like I set a bomb in the base or tried to serve you all up to Talon on a silver platter! You’ve seen our bloody texts you bastard, you know exactly what we talked about, like that wasn’t a huge invasion of privacy in and of itself! But I understood that, I could let it pass. But you still won’t stop! Would you be happier if I was the enemy you keep saying I am? Is that it?” Lena is practically screaming at this point. This argument seems to be well worn and familiar to her.

“I’d rather I knew for certain where your loyalties lie,” the soldier shoots back. “I’d rather that no one was keeping secrets, that no one was going behind anyone’s backs. I’ve been down that road before, and it always ends badly.  _ Always _ . Everything goes to hell when you start hiding things, and I don’t want you taking us all down with you.” The soldier seems unfazed by Lena’s anger. His own flairs just as bright.

“My loyalties are where they’ve always been. To us. To Overwatch. To our family. And whether you like it or not Amélie’s a part of it now, so you can kindly take your bullshit excuses and shove them up your ass, or I’ll do it for you.”

“Please Oxton. I could take you down one handed.”   
“Wanna bet?” Lena asks, her arms flicking down to her sides. Amélie recognizes the motion. Were she combat ready, Lena’s pistols would now be in her hands.

 

Amélie looks around the room, eyes flicking across the assembled Overwatch members, looking for someone who will derail this chain of interaction before it boils over into a full fledged fight. The faces she sees all just look stunned. Too stunned to do anything. Apart from one.

 

“I think that is enough,” comes a new voice, edged with steel. The volume of the words is nothing above a normal speaking voice, but they nevertheless seem to echo from the walls and fill the room. Silence flows into place in their wake.

 

The omnic floats over the table so he sits between Lena and 76, both of whom still have murder written in the tension of their bodies. Two orbs disconnect from the orbit surrounding the machines neck, one going to each of the two would-be combatants, each ball taking on a golden glow as it floats near either persons shoulder. Both parties seem to relax subtly, though the tension doesn’t disappear from them entirely.

 

“Discord has its place, and this is not it,” says the monk evenly. He turns to look at the soldier. “76, you understand what it is to support someone in their time of need.” He turns to the still fuming Lena. “And Ms. Oxton, you can understand wanting to protect those you care about. No one here is wrong, but no one here is right either. The only incorrect course of action is needless battle. Only through tranquility, may we attain enlightenment.”

 

The standoff holds for another second. Two. Then the stretched feeling in the air loosens as Lena looks away from the red glare of 76’s visor.

“Sorry Zenny,” she says. “I didn’t mean for things to go like that.”

The monk nods evenly, then turns to look at the soldier.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, a scowl still in his words. He says nothing else, but he at least returns to his former slouch in his chair.

 

Mentally, Amélie lets out a sigh. There will be no bloodshed this day.

Not yet at least.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the delay. Due to some weirdness of my school I'm basically in my last week of school, which means I'm being SLAMMED by assignments. Not only that but I had practice for my schools musical all of last week, culminating in performances Friday and Saturday so I've been QUITE busy. Regardless, I'm here again. Enjoy.

Winston clears his throat, bringing the attention of the room back to himself.

“Well then. If I may continue?” he asks the room as a whole. No one disputes him, so he moves ahead. “We don’t have much else we’re going to cover today Amélie. Mostly we just wanted to update you on yours and Tracer’s status. Angela has been working to process the data from the tests we took upon your arrival and more recently after your…” He seems to struggle to find a polite term.

“After I passed out,” Amélie supplies.

He offers a wan smile. “Yes. That. Anyway, when we have any new results we’ll inform you immediately. We don’t intend to keep you in the dark about your body.”

“Thank you. That is greatly appreciated,” she says, and she does mean it. It will give her some modicum of control over her body once again, the control that was taken from her long ago. It will be good to have it back.

 

“We will be bringing you back in for questioning occasionally, but not every day as we have been,” he continues.

“Why?” she asks, surprised.

Winston smiles. “Honestly? We’re starting to run low on things to ask about. You’ve answered to the best of your ability again and again for almost two weeks now. We do have more questions, and I’m sure more will come up as we go, but for now you’re almost in the clear.”

 

She allows a small smile to flicker across her face. Winston notices, and he seems pleased. That pleasure fades away a moment later, and he becomes solemn.

“One more thing,” he says. “Yesterday you asked if you would be allowed to interact with L-. With Tracer. At the time we didn’t know. We have decided. As of now, you will not be allowed contact with Tracer, except for certain occasions supervised by this council. We feel the risk is just too great.

“I’m sorry,” he adds at the end, and she can tell he means it.

She doesn’t like it, wants to argue against it with every fiber of her being. But she can understand why they feel it necessary. Can accept it, however heavy a burden it might be to bear.

 

Lena, it would seem, cannot.

Her protests are already half out, her tone appealing and near desperate. She won’t let this argument go.

 

“Chérie,” she calls across the room. Lena’s words die and she turns to look at her. There is hurt in her eyes.

“It must be done. They are right.”

“But,” Lena starts. Amélie interjects before she can finish.

“Don’t make it any harder, please. This is the best course of action,” she says. Her mind tells her she is right, that this is the rational choice.

Her heart disagrees.

 

Lena’s mouth is screwed tightly shut. Her eyes are sharp. But she nods, and lets the rest of her arguments go unsaid.

 

Amélie turns back to face Winston. He is looking back and forth between the two of them, as though trying to understand what just took place. Amélie is not sure that even she knows.

 

“Well…” Winston says at last. The thought trails off, incomplete. “I believe there’s nothing left for us to cover today. Mccree, I believe you were going to show Amélie around the public areas of the base?”

“That I am,” Mccree says, stepping forward to stand beside her. His organic hand lands lightly on her shoulder and starts guiding her to the door. “C’mon darlin’. Let’s go.”

 

Amélie follows without really thinking. Her mind is busy.

 

She tries to turn as they exit, to catch one last look at Lena, but the doors slide shut before she can.


	20. Chapter 20

Mccree leads them back through the halls silently, walking beside her now instead of behind her. Amélie dully realizes that he shoots with his organic hand. The same hand that is now on her arm instead of on his gun. He does not seem to feel the need to keep it there anymore.

 

He shakes her lightly.

“Amélie. Hey. Amélie.”

He shakes her again.

 

She come back to herself all at once and shakes off his hand without even thinking.

“I apologize,” she says, her eyes scanning the halls, trying to reorient their current position. Old habits die hard.

 

“And just what are you apologizin’ for?” Mccree asks. “I’d say you have every right to be a bit out of it. That was some heavy stuff back there.”

“Yes,” she says quietly. “It was.”

Mccree is kind enough to pretend not to hear.

 

They continue through the halls silently for a while longer, then Mccree stops them. Amélie recognizes the hallway as the one which houses her new quarters.

“Figured I’d get you oriented from here. Made sense in my head anyway,” he explains.

“That sounds fine. Thank you,” she replies.

He first shows her the bathroom facilities at the end of the hall, followed by the laundy next door and the cupboard where various toiletries, towels, and detergents are kept.

 

As they move on the cowboy falls into a sort of steady, rambling kind of chatter. There’s a rising and falling rhythm to the way he talks. Mostly what he says comes without meaning and does not seem to require a reply. It’s warm white noise, a blanket of background sound. It is almost comforting. Sometimes he lapses into silence, but it’s a comfortable silence. A shared silence. She enjoys it. 

 

As the tour progresses and Mccree shows her the common room, the kitchens, the rec room, she starts offering comments. A word or two here and there, offered into his steady rain of discussion. He does not seem upset by it, quite the opposite. He welcomes her additions into his stories, wrapping them together and integrating them into a whole. Something greater than the sum of its parts.

 

She starts talking more.

  
By the time the tour is complete, they have established a comfortable rapport, somehow ending up back in the common room on a pair of chairs. The conversation ranges across topics near and far. Mccree gives far more than he takes, accepting her silence in certain areas and filling it with tidbits from his own checkered past.

 

Amélie is surprised to find herself feeling… comfortable. Welcome.

It’s strange. Apart from Lena and Sombra, she has not felt at ease with another person since… since before her life as Widowmaker. 

She isn’t quite sure how it happened, but it appears that Jesse Mccree has become a friend.

She smiles. Mccree, who is in the middle of narrating a heist he pulled with an old friend named Ashe — who he described as “someone who could make the devil get on his knees and beg if she had half a mind to do it” — smiles in return. She sees a glint of recognition in his eyes, as though he knows what she has been thinking. Somehow, that is not as disturbing as it might have seemed.

 

The two talk for a while. Amélie can’t say for certain, but she thinks that the tour took an hour and they talked for another two. Finally, Mccree stands, an empty stomach beckoning him to the kitchen. Amélie follows behind, surprised to find she too is hungry.

She is even more surprised to find that, against all odds, Jesse Mccree can cook. At least to an extent. She isn’t entirely sure  _ what _ it is he makes, but it looks and smells good and tastes even better. Perhaps it’s the company that makes it so.

 

After the meal Amélie stands, and speaks.

“Thank you for the food Jesse, and for the conversation. It was… nice.”

Mccree tips his hat. “Happy to do it darlin’. Just give me a holler some other time and I’d be happy to do it again. Guessin’ you want to head somewhere?”

“My room, if you wouldn’t mind.” There is some subtle joy about saying the word ‘room’. Not ‘cell’ or ‘prison’. Room. It’s new, and welcome.   
“No problem,” he replies. “You know where you’re goin’, or do you want me to lead the way?”

“I think I know the route,” she answers. 

The two set out, and Amélie is correct in her assessment of her own abilities. They arrive at her room without incident or deviation from the path shortly.

 

“Gotta hand it to ya. When I first got here I was lost for the first day or two. Had to ask Athena to help get me around.”

Amélie lets out a small laugh at that. It is not the first one she’s shared while she’s been with Mccree. He makes it easy.

“Thank you again for showing me around Jesse. I enjoyed it.”

“My pleasure,” he replies.

 

“Actually, one more thing,” he says as he’s about to leave the doorway. Amélie stops with her hand already starting to close it. “Y’know how you’re only supposed to be out and about under guard?” he asks.

She nods.

“Well, if you want to be in the common areas, this is how you can get someone down to accompany you.”

He clears his throat and looks up at the ceiling. “Athena?”

“Hello Jesse. Is there something I can help you with?” asks a cool, female voice that seems to be emanating from some unseen speaker.

“Hey Athena. Winston got you up to pace on Amélie’s whole situation right?”

“Yes he did. I assume you’re showing her how to call on me?” replies the voice.

Mccree chuckles. “Got it in one. She’s a smart cookie,” he says, the last part addressed to Amélie. “Now if you ever want to head somewhere, just ask Athena to send someone over. You  _ can _ ask for someone by name, if you’re lookin’ to get an eyeful of my sorry mug sometime or other. If I’m around, I’ll head right over.”

Amélie nods. “Thank you Jesse, that’s a great help.”

Jesse nods, raises two fingers to his head in mock salute, then saunters down the hallway.

Amélie shuts the door behind him.

She is surprised to find she is sad to see him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, new chapter next Saturday. Needed a break due to busy life and some convulsions in the story throwing me for a loop. See you then, sorry for not keeping you all up to speed.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay between chapters. I've got more to talk about but for now here's this week's installment.

As soon as the cowboy’s retreating footsteps have faded, Amélie moves to her cot and snatches up her phone.

It has been a very, very, full day. She needs to talk to Lena.

Lena, as it turns out, had the same idea.

**When you’re back I’d love to chat**

**I figure you’re not around since Winston said Mccree was gonna tour the base with you**

**Must be nice not to be cooped up in one room anymore**

**Though it sucks that I still don’t get to see you properly**

**I miss you**

**< 3**

Amélie smiles, warm and gentle.

**I miss you too ma chérie**

**Oh, you’re back!**

**How’d it go?**

**Honestly?**

**It… surprised me how much I enjoyed it**

**Jesse’s a good guy**

**...once you get past the cowboy thing**

Amélie laughs aloud at that.

**It is a bit… odd**

**It’s bloody ridiculous is what it is**

**But I love him to death**

 

**He said he told you?**

**About how we’re talking?**

Amélie knows what she speaks of, and respects the vagueness. If they are revealed, it is only fair to keep Mccree out of trouble as much as they can.

**He did**

**I am grateful that he is here**

**That he is someone you can trust**

**So am I**

**It’s been hard being here**

**Just about everyone’s either been handling me with kid gloves or open disdain**

**Honestly, it sucks**

**I can imagine**

**This is a lot to take in**

**They just need time**

Amélie can practically hear Lena sighing through the phone.

**I know, I know**

**Still sucks though**

**Agreed**

**I miss you**

**Miss you too love**

**How long do you think this’ll keep up?**

**Truthfully I have no idea**

**There isn’t exactly anything to use as a reference point**

**Ha**

**True**

**Suppose we’ll just have to wait and see**

**I suppose so**

The conversation rambles where it will. As they talk Amélie explores the full extent of her room, examining its various fixtures more fully, intent for any secrets they may hold. The dresser is, as Jesse made her aware, full of clean clothing. Plain, serviceable, and all in her size. The closet is empty, apart from a pair of plain shoes on the floor. The shelves on the wall are empty, as are the drawers in the desk and nightstand. 

As she continues talking to Lena about the new rules that have been placed upon them, she realizes that her absent-minded, meandering search is not actually all that random. She is going through a bug check, just as she was taught.

It would seem she cannot shake the programming so quickly.

She finishes the check anyway, now that she knows what she’s doing, and finds nothing but a small microphone next to the door, presumably the one Mccree used when talking with Athena. The rest of the room is clear. No cameras to speak of.

Somewhere inside she already knew that though.

She lived with eyes on her at all times for years. She knows when no one is watching.

 

A new message from Lena appears, and it diverts her full attention back to the screen.

**Why didn’t you let me fight?**

Amélie moves back to her bed and sits down on the edge as more messages filter in.

**You stopped me from arguing our case**

**From trying to change this stupid rule**

**I want to see you!**

**I want to be able to actually look at you**

**To hear you talk instead of just typing out words and reading your reply and pretending you’re saying it to me in person**

**We could have at least tried!**

**Why didn’t you?**

She stares. When she begins to type, her fingers fall in slow, deliberate strokes.

**Do you actually think**

**For even a second**

**That I do not wish to see you**

**To be with you**

**Chérie**

**That’s all I want**

**Then why not fight for it?!**

**Because it isn’t the time**

**And don’t imagine I’m happy to be saying that**

**Overwatch does not know me as you do**

**They do not know how to handle me**

**How to handle this whole situation**

**Caution is the only defense they have**

**Or outright execution**

**I wouldn’t let them**

A smile ghosts across her lips.

**I know**

**But open warfare is something we should avoid**

**Fine**

**If you insist**

**:)**

**:)**

**Give it time chérie**

**They need to know who I am**

**Know me as you do**

**As a person**

**Not the enemy they’ve fought for so long**

**It will take time**

**Y’know, time’s usually on my side**

**Not in this case**

**No…**

**I don’t want to be patient!**

**Please try though**

**For me**

**…**

**…**

**…**

**Fiiiiiiiiiiiine**

**For you**

**Thank you**

**Shit, someone’s knocking**

**Guess I’m gone**

**Talk to you later Amé**

**Au revoir chérie**

Amélie slides her phone back beneath her pillow and considers the room around her. Considers the world around her.

How much it has changed.

How much her life has changed.

How much more of a life she has been given once again.

Three weeks into her new life now. Three weeks

And how new a world it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I already said I have some news. The long and the short of it is that there's gonna be a break right now. I'm not sure for how long, but hopefully it won't be too long. I figured I'd cut it here because this is pretty much where all the "setup" ends, and things start to accelerate like crazy. I don't want to cut out in the middle of all that, so I'm taking some time to reinstate more of my buffer. 
> 
> The fact of the matter is that right now I'm a little bit stuck. The story's giving me fits, and I'm under quite a lot of pressure from my life outside of it as well, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to put the time and energy I want into this story. I'm about to graduate from high school and the last month or so of school is being quite demanding for me. I'm trying my best to keep things under control, but I think for this story to remain up to the standard I want it to be, I need to take a break.
> 
> Hopefully it won't be more than a month or two, then I'll be back with regular or semi-regular updates. I might come back a little earlier and drop the updates back down to every two weeks, or it could take me longer to get up and running and I'll go back to once a week. If you guys have a preference let me know.
> 
> Anyway, sorry for taking up so much of your time with my ramblings. Hopefully I'll be back to posting this story sooner rather than later.
> 
> And thank you guys so very, very, much for sticking with me this far. I love you all.
> 
> EDIT: Just sticking this in at the one month mark of the hiatus, in case anyone's come to check on things. I'm officially a high school graduate and am on summer break! Yay! I've been pretty busy still, but I've been working on Revelations steadily, slowly pushing my way through the block I hit. No definite date for a return yet, and don't expect anything soon. Just letting you guys know I haven't abandoned this.
> 
> EDIT 2: We're at the two month mark now and things are looking up. I'm feeling much more confident on where the stories going as well as the quality of my work, and I'm in the midst of rebuilding my buffer back to its fullest potential so I can return to weekly or bi-weekly updates. It shouldn't be much longer now.
> 
> EDIT 3: We're back.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes at the end, mostly general stuff, but don't worry about that right now.  
> For now, just read.

The lights are brilliant, but dulled a few notches. She can just barely see, though everything is reduced to slight shadings of the brightness. Her vision still flickers with red afterimages from the pain, only recently halted, and surely soon to return. Her eyes struggle to stay open against the brilliance of her surroundings and the exhaustion filling her entire body like concrete, slowly settling lower and lower. She starts sinking down with it.

 

“Uh uh uh. No falling asleep now. We’re not done quite yet.”

The voice slices through the air with precision, with authority.

There is not enough left in her to obey it. Her eyes flicker shut again, her head lolling.

 

A sharp, fresh pain jags across her face. Her eyes flicker open in shock, a faint intake of breath slipping out of her mouth, not enough energy left to shout.

“I said _stay awake_. It’s not a good idea to ignore me pet.”

A shadow looms out of the light and takes on features. Pale skin. Sharp nose. Two toned eyes, one a gleaming crystalline blue and the other an impossible, gaudy, bloody red.

A smile like a knife wound appears on the face.

“Oh _good_. Following orders already. I like that in my toys.”

Amélie struggles to remember how to move her lips and tongue, how to push air out of her lungs, how to form words.

“I…am not…your…toy,” she manages, each word labored and struggled. That small amount of speech saps her of some reserve of strength she didn’t know she had. She feels herself weaken even further.

 

The woman’s smile, if anything, grows. Sharpens. Cuts deeper.

“Oh silly girl. Of course you are. And I’d suggest you remember it. Sometimes the most fun thing to do with a toy is to watch it break. We wouldn’t want to break you, would we? At least, not yet...”

 

Amélie’s eyes flutter shut once more, then jolt open a moment later when the woman slaps her again.

“So pet, are you enjoying yourself so far? There’s so much to do I can hardly contain my excitement! I haven’t had this much fun on a project since I made Reyes. So many options. Shall we keep pushing you closer and closer to the edge, slowly getting you nearer and nearer to madness? Or should we hit hard, fast, and watch you shatter? What do you think? Hmm?”

Her eyes are closing again. She forces them open.

“Go...to...hell.”

That knife wound of a smile is still there.

“I don’t think so. But please, send me a postcard when you get there.

“Are we ready?” she asks, turning over her shoulder to ask some outsider the question.

A reply comes, indistinct to Amélie’s ears. It’s hard to even hear the doctor over the ringing in them.

 

“Good, good,” the woman says, then turns back to look at Amélie once again. “You know how doctors normally say ‘this won’t hurt a bit’? Those liars.”

The woman chuckles, then leans in close. Amélie view becomes nothing but those eyes. Blue and red. Swallowing her.

“I am not one of them dear. I will never lie to you. This _will_ hurt. And it won’t stop hurting any. Time. Soon.”

 

The woman pulls back and walks away.

Amélie hears a sound, an electrical hum, building up and up and up.

And then pain lances into her body, sharp and blinding.

She tries to scream, doesn’t know if she is able. All she hears is ringing… 

ringing… 

 

ringing… 

◇ ◇ ◇

The sound follows her into wakefulness, though it is no longer just in her ears. The noise echoes through the entire base. Amélie throws herself out of bed, her panic response telling her to run, run, _run_ , but there is nowhere to run to. After a while she also realizes there is nothing to run from.

 

Awareness filters back into place slowly. her surroundings still feeling new and unusual even after nearly a week spent in them, but as the world falls back into place the anomaly sharpens and takes up the forefront of her mind. The alarm. Why is there an alarm? What is happening?

 

She practically dives for her bed, for her phone, pulling it out quickly and desperately. Her fingers flying, she types out a quick message.

**Are you ok?**

**What’s going on?**

And then waits.

And waits.

And waits.

As the alarms continue to blare around her.

 

And after an eternal five minutes, each one counted as the phones display ticks on, she receives a reply.

**Dunno**

**No one’s come to see me yet**

**Just got this bloody alarm going**

**I ducked out for a minute to see if anyone was nearby, came back to your message**

Relief filters into her.

**At least you’re ok**

**I could say the same**

**Though it doesn’t answer the question of what’s actually happening**

**Unfortunately I do not see any way for us to get that information**

**I have a way**

**I’ll just go and ask**

**Actually wait**

**Looks like I won’t need to**

**Someone’s here**

**Tell me what they say when you can**

**Good luck**

She is returned to solitude, holding the lifeless phone in her hands. She sits with her back against the wall, waiting. After a moment she takes the pillow from the bed next to her and wraps it around her head.

She understands the need for an alarm but does it have to be so loud?

Five minutes stretch on in the same manner, noisy, but otherwise empty.

After ten minutes the alarm finally, blessedly, quiets.

But no more messages from Lena. And no clue as to the alarms cause.

After fifteen minutes there is a knock at her door, and Amélie practically throws herself across the room to open it, composing herself at the very last minute into some semblance of a calm that she does not feel, prepared for whoever she is about to be greeted by.

 

It is Jesse.

Before she can even begin to ask he lifts a finger, halting her. “There’s been an attack. Numbani. Confirmed sightings of Doomfist, Reaper, and other known Talon operatives. We’re going after them.”

His words calm the fear a little, at the very least assuaging the fear of the unknown that had been sweeping over her. His next words spark it all back alight.

“We’re taking Lena with us.”

“WHAT?!” she cries out, unable to hold it in. Panic rips into her, fear of what could be. Fear of injury, of death, of losing her.

 

“Amélie,” Mccree says, placing his hands on her shoulders in an attempt to steady her. He locks his gaze with hers, his eyes calm and serious. She has no doubt hers are reflecting the panic she feels.

“This is for the best,” he says. “Overwatch needs her back out there, needs to know that she hasn’t changed, isn’t against us. There’s no easy way to rebuild that kind of trust, but combat definitely speeds things along.” His voice is grim. “There really isn’t much other choice.”

“I don’t-”

“Stop,” he cuts her off. “You’re thinking with your heart, not your head, and no one can blame you for that. But right now you can’t afford the luxury. You need to do what’s best for Lena. For the both of you. Let her go.”

 

She throws off his grip and turns into her room, pacing the newly given space in nervous circles, hoping to channel the energy whirling inside her into something that will straighten the circular pathway of her thoughts.

The problem is he is _right_ , and that’s the last thing she wants. She doesn’t want to see the rational, see the logic of his stance. She just wants to argue against it, do _anything_ to keep Lena safe.

But she knows better.

 

She rounds on Jesse.

“Whose idea was this?” she asks, wanting someone to direct her anger at. Her mind is already flipping to the soldier. An easy target for her ire.

“Mine.”

The train of thought derails. She looks at him in shock, reappraising, reassessing. “You?” she asks incredulously.

Mccree shrugs. “Me.”

“Why?”

“For the same reasons I already gave you,” he replies. His eyes are steady, his logic implacable. “Plus, Lena’s a good hand in a firefight. I know I’m safer with her covering my six. It’s idiotic of Overwatch to deprive themselves of her.”

Amélie concedes the point mentally, and is unhappy in doing so. She wants to be angry at the cowboy, to yell at him, to tell him he’s wrong. She feels betrayed. She _liked_ him, counted him a friend. Now this.

She wishes she could hate him.

 

She wishes she could oppose him.

 

She cannot.

 

The fight goes out of her in a rush, and she sees Mccree take note.

She lifts her eyes level with his and stares him down with all the intensity she can muster.

“You _will_ make sure she comes back to me,” she says, enunciating each syllable clearly and sharply, enfusing each word with the strength of her will.

 

Mccree, for his part, actually laughs.

“Darlin’, I think you’re forgetting how good Lena actually is. Chances are she’ll be the one saving _my_ ass.”

Her eyes remain serious. The smile dies on his face.

“I’ll make sure she’s ok. Swear. I’d do it anyway, even without you tellin’ me to. Girls like a sister to me.”

She nods, satisfied. To an extent anyway.

“I’ll also make sure she takes her phone. You’ll know the moment we touch down and the moment we’re heading home safe. That’s a promise.”

She cannot bring herself to look at him, but she manages a quiet “thank you” nonetheless.

“Zenyatta’ll be here, to keep an eye on the place. He’s a good guy. Maybe you could give him a holler.”

She nods, eyes still down. She knows that ‘keep an eye on the place’ really means ‘keep an eye on her.’ Her hand sneaks unprompted beneath her pillow, cradling the cold metal for comfort.

 

Mccree stands in the door a moment longer, then exits.

 

Amélie remains where she is, trying her best not to think about anything.

 

Anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are BACK baby! Woo!  
> Hey guys, good to be back. It's been two months and a few days since the last chapter. Hope this one's got you all exited for what's to come. Like I said, I've got a few things I'd like to stick here, mostly general upkeep type things, so I'll get into all that.
> 
> First off, this is the beginning of what I've come to think of as the "second act" of the story. Take that with a grain of salt because I actually have NO IDEA what I'm doing. I just felt a change in narrative pacing between last chapter and this as I was writing and felt like something was different, so in my head I started referring to everything prior to this as "act one". Most of the setup type stuff to establish things has now been taken care of, and moving forward we'll be dealing with some very... let's say, _interesting _, things. I'm sure it'll be a fun experience for all of us.__  
>  Also, I am returning to the prior update system. That means new chapters once a week, posted Saturday my time. Yes, every week. And I'm gonna stick to that.  
> If you remember back when this break began, I gave a few reasons for why I was taking off from this story, one of those being to help reestablish my buffer. That has been done, quite a bit in fact. As long as you guys keep reading I should have more for you for at least a while.
> 
> And one last thing real quick. Thank you all for sticking with me this long. It really does mean a lot to me, more than I can say.  
>    
> I'll see you all next week.


	23. Chapter 23

She spends the first hour seated on her bed in silence, staring vacantly at the walls, the floor, her own blued hands.

She spends the second hour pacing the room, reversing direction every ten minutes, counting the second in each set.

She spends the third back on her bunk.

The fourth on her feet.

And never once does her phone leave her hands.

 

She has only talked briefly with Lena, receiving a message during her second hour spent stationary.

**Jesse told you the what and where**

**No point going over it again is there?**

**No**

**I suppose not**

**I’ll come back**

**Promise**

**Just be there when I do**

**I know you will**

**And I would rather die than leave**

**< 3**

**< 3**

**We’re on the Orca right now**

**Not enough room to be careful about texting**

**I’m gonna have to hit radio silence pretty soon**

**I was afraid you might say that**

**I’m not lookin forward to it either luv**

**I know**

**Before you go then**

**What’s it like**

**Being back on the way to combat?**

**Dunno**

**Weird**

**It’s barely been a few weeks**

**Feels like longer**

**Way longer**

**Feels like my first mission all over again**

**Guess it’s for the same reason**

**What reason?**

**I have something to prove**

**Not to me**

**I know**

**But it’s not you I need to prove anything to**

**It’s to them**

**Jesse’s right, and you know it**

**Nothing builds trust like a firefight**

**You don’t have much choice**

**If you don’t trust, you don’t survive**

**And they NEED to trust me again**

**You said it yourself**

**I know**

**I know**

**But that doesn’t make it easier to know you’re flying towards danger**

**I have fought Talon a time or two before y’know**

**And it’ll probably be easier without having to duck sniper fire**

**I only hit you three times**

**Four**

**You don’t remember one of them**

**You were in your mission state**

**…**

**Shouldn’t have brought that up**

**Sorry**

**Ignore that**

**You have no idea how much I hate myself for that**

**I have a little**

**But if I can forgive being shot then you can forgive doing the shooting**

**At least promise me you’ll try**

**I will do my best**

**That’s all I’d ever ask**

**I should cut things now**

**It’s been too long already**

**Come home safe**

**I will**

**Promise**

 

And there the conversation ended.

Amélie stares at the phone for a minute, thinking, trying not to think.

She fails, but is surprised when instead of the disastrous scenarios she expect to see behind her eyes, she finds something that might be useful. An idea.

 

She opens up a new message window and types out a text.

**Are you aware of what’s going on?**

**You’re gonna have to be more specific araña**

**I’m kinda hot shit you know**

**Lot of irons in the fire**

**This is not the time for jokes**

**Talon is mobilizing for some kind of op in Numbani**

**Doomfist and Reaper are confirmed**

**That’s all I know**

**Wait what?**

**Hold on**

Amélie does as she’s bid. There’s nothing else to do.

A few minutes later a new message appears.

**Hijo de puta!**

**They smoke screened me!**

**Sombra**

**What’s happening**

**They hid this from me**

**From my programs too**

**I’d almost be impressed if I wasn’t so pissed**

**Someone in Talon is smart**

**Looks like they don’t trust me quite as much as they used to**

**Can you get around whatever they did?**

**Pfft**

**Amélie**

**Worlds**

**Greatest**

**Hacker**

**Remember?**

**Of course I can**

**Do it**

**I’m already halfway there**

Another period of waiting passes, this one longer. Amélie’s eyes never leave the screen.

Finally, another message appears.

**Ok**

**I’ve got it all**

**What do you want to know?**

**Everything**

**Everything’s kind of a lot**

**I’ll give you the short version**

**What you knew was right**

**Doomfist and Reaper are heading up a mission to Numbani**

**Looks like there’s a few reasons for it**

**Doomfist wants to reestablish his presence in the area and incite poor omnic human relations**

**They want to test Overwatch’s response and the resistance of the locals**

**And one other thing**

**This one might interest you more**

**Why?**

**They’re working to steal some tech**

**There’s some schematics here, but I can’t make heads or tails of it**

**The interesting part is who for**

**The request came direct from someone you’re probably quite familiar with**

**Moira**

**Of course**

**Yep**

**That puta has her hands in a lot of Talon’s ventures**

**Looks like she wants whatever this stuff is for her lab**

**Which I’m sure you wish you could forget**

**Yes**

**Anything else?**

**Nothing that’s really interesting**

**Though I’m a bit worried that they hid the op from me**

**I still got through mind you**

**But if they’re hiding** **_this_ ** **from me there’s no knowing what else I don’t know about**

**I’m gonna do some digging**

**Tell me what you find**

**You got it**

**Take care araña**

**And don’t worry about your girl**

**She can take care of herself**

**…**

**I almost asked how you knew about that**

**Then I thought better of it**

**:P**

**Love you too**

**Adios**

**Goodbye Sombra**

And that conversation too dies.


	24. Chapter 24

She stops paying attention to the time, her world narrowing down to the square of metal and plastic clasped in her hands.

Until that focus is shattered by a voice emanating from somewhere above her.

“Amélie?”

She sits up. She had forgotten about Athena.

“Yes?” she says to the empty air.

“Zenyatta would like to know if you are open to meeting him in the common area.”

 

She thinks. Zenyatta is one of the members of the new Overwatch that she is the most unsure around. Winston seems sympathetic. Angela cares for her. 76’s hatred is open, and not unexpected. But Zenyatta… The omnic is nearly impossible to read. He rarely speaks during interviews. He is merely impassive. She doesn't know what he thinks. She doesn’t know what  _ she _ should think.

Meeting with him now could very well answer some of those questions.

“Tell him I will see him there.”

“Very well,” comes the reply, and then she is alone again.

She stands, sweeping the room for any delay or thing to give her pause. She finds it laying on her bed where she left it.

Slipping her phone into her pocket, she exits the quiet darkness of her room and begins to traverse the empty, echoing halls of the Watchpoint. At such a time as this, she will not allow her only link to Lena to be separate from her.

 

The journey seems to take less time, the route already imprinted into her mind, as though she might actually have use of the information. As though her stay won’t just be temporary.

A fear that has been within her all this time, buried so deep that she scarcely noticed its presence anymore.

She pushes it aside. Now is not the time for it.

 

The omnic is floating just above one of the couches of the common room, suspended in a meditative looking pose.

He revolves in the air on her entrance, the indicators on his forehead giving a brief flicker, like he is opening his eyes or blinking.

“Ah, Amélie. It’s good to see you.” He floats over to her and extends a hand.

“It is?” she asks.

“Of course,” the omnic replies. There is warmth in his tone, the metal of his voice softened in some undefinable way. Artificiality tempered by humanity. “I’ve been trying to arrange a time to properly meet with you since your arrival.”

“You have?” she asks, confused and a little worried at this point. Before she can forget, she takes his extended hand and shakes it. The metal is warm. “Why would you want to see me?”

“To talk to you of course. You are an incredible person. Why would I not be interested in knowing you better?”

Her fear has melted into pure surprise now. Of all the answers the omnic might have given, this is not one she expected. She tells him as much.

 

“And what did you expect?” he asks.

Accusation. Blame. Anger.

 

“...something different.”

“You expected me to hate you. Because of the loss of my brother.”

The monk remains impassive. Amélie merely nods, mute.

Zenyatta nods, as though he is unsurprised. “Come and sit down with me. We will talk.”

She follows him to the couches. To her surprise, the omnic actually does sit, descending from his near constant hover to recline on the cushions. She seats herself a foot or so away. Not too far away to be rude, but not too close either.

“You seem uncomfortable. May I ask why?” The omnic begins. As though his calling attention to it made it so, she feels the tension written into her limbs, and forces them to relax. She is not entirely successful.

“You managed to hit the nail on the head already. I expected you to blame me.” Hesitancy enters her voice. “You don’t?”

“No. I do not.”

“Why?!” she asks. The word echoes in the room slightly, and she realizes it came out far louder than she intended. She regains control of her vocal chords, and tries again. “Why do you not hold me accountable. I am the one who murdered Mondatta. I took your brother from you.”

The monk tilts his head slightly, his optics examining her. “No,” he says after a moment. “I don’t think you did. Your actions were not your own. You did not wish to kill my brother.”

She can scarcely believe it. “You believe me?” she asks, certain her ears have deceived her. “You truly believe me?”

“Of course,” comes the reply, not a single note of insincerity lying therin.

“Why?” She has to know. Despite all her hopes, to hear that someone in Overwatch truly believes her… it is unreal.

“Because it is the truth.”

“And how do you know that?”

“You do not believe that I might simply take you at your word.” 

It is not a question. 

“I thought that might be the case, though I did hope. You expect the world to be against you.” Again, it is a statement.

 

She does not respond. She knows he is right.

 

He begins to explain. “I believe you partly through what I know about you. Your past, your actions since your removal from Talon. Your open cooperation, and desire for understanding from those you have come to be faced with. You have done everything in your power to try and fix the wrongs of your past as you perceive them. You answer every question, agree with every rule and stricture. You do everything in your power to cooperate, to be trusted.”

He pauses for a moment. “I also, quite simply, see it. I see inside of you, all the pain of it. The horrors of your past. You still hold yourself accountable for all of it. You still hate yourself for it.”

It is not a question. She answers anyway, a mute nod, just a small movement. The monk sees, she is sure.

“May I ask why? From everything you have said, and all we have recovered from Talon’s files, you were not in control of your own actions. So, why do you still blame yourself for what came to pass?”

She takes a moment to think, turning the question over and over in her mind, picking her words carefully.

“...It was all me. Even though I didn’t want to do it. My eyes sighted the shot, my hands held the rifle, my finger pulled the trigger. I remember all of it. I was present for all of it. It was still ME. I could not stop it, but I was still there… And I… 

“I should’ve… “

Words fail her.

“You think you should have stopped it. That if you had done more, maybe this could have been avoided. Lives could have been saved.”

The lump in her throat chokes her. Hot tears start leaking down her face. She nods.

“I see,” says the monk. He falls silent for a moment, then speaks again.

 

“Amélie, were you ever shown the full scope of what was done to you during what Talon called reconditioning? The lengths they went to?”

She turns to look at him. His face plate is turned towards her. If he had eyes, he would be holding her gaze.

“No,” she says.

He nods. “I’ll make sure you have that opportunity, if you wish. Regardless, I have seen the data Talon had on you, or all that we have access to. Do you know what I’ve seen?”

A warm metal hand reaches across the divide between them, and lays itself gently atop one of her own. Lightly, cautiously. A gesture of comfort if she wishes it. Not a cage or a prison. One she can choose to break. Connection.

She remains still.

“I’ve seen what kind of forces you were up against. What you did, what you continue to do each and every day, is miraculous. To break through the conditioning placed upon you not only once, but multiple times? From what we’ve gathered that should have been nearly impossible. And yet, here you are.”

Zenyatta stops speaking. His hand seems to vibrate subtly against hers, a warm electric current, coming in waves. A heartbeat.

 

Her mind is spinning, revolving on itself without end. She does not know what to say.

She does not say anything.

Zenyatta remains silent as well, pulling his hand away from her. Giving her space.

 

“Thank you,” she manages after a while.

The omnic nods serenely.

Silence reins. Comfortable, encompassing. A familiar feeling, though not one she expected to find here and now.

 

Zenyatta is not what she expected, in any way.

 

The stillness is finally broken after an interminable period, and not by her.

“I had a student, some time ago,” the monk begins. “He felt lost, conflicted. He did not understand his place in the world. He felt that he had lost his identity, his past, and with it his chance at a future. He believed himself ruined.”

She recognizes herself in his story, as she is sure is his point.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asks.

“Because I did my best to offer aid to him as he found himself.”

He pauses, thoughtful. “If you wish, it would be my honor to try and assist you in your recovery.”

 

She stills. Thinks. Turns herself inward and examines herself.

She is surprised to find she wants to take the omnics offer.

More than that, she is surprised to find that she trusts him.

 

She nods. “If you are willing to lead, I am willing to follow,” she says. “Thank you.”

 

She is not sure how she knows, but she is quite certain that, if he had a humans features, the omnic would be smiling.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Some stuff happened and I wasn't able to upload yesterday. Here's the chapter.

The message comes perhaps an hour later, without warning or preamble. A single buzz hums against her leg, and she feels her whole body stiffen in response. She tries to mask the response, and hopes she is at least somewhat successful. Fear and hope and too many other emotions to name are running rampant through her, pushing her mind into turmoil and confusion, the need for secrecy doing its best to assert control over the madness in her head.

 

She feels another buzz against her leg.

 

She stands and asks Zenyatta to excuse her for a moment desperate to read whatever message has come through, doing her best to remain calm and collected.

 

Another buzz.

 

“I assume she texted you?” says the omnic, and she feels her heart stop, frozen in fear.

 

She turns back to look at him.

“What are you talking about?” she asks, doing her best to keep her face emotionless.

“The phone in your right side pocket. I assume you’ve received a message from Ms. Oxton.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies, her heart beating far too fast in her chest.

 

Another buzz.

 

“Amélie,” says the omnic, his voice calm and gentle. “I am not going to ‘turn you in’, as the case may be, or do anything to cause you harm. In all honesty, I’m quite curious to know the outcome of events myself.”

 

Another buzz. Something is happening.

 

“Your secret is safe with me, so long as it needs to remain secret. I promise,” he continues.

She examines him, examines herself, her standing and beliefs about him. They have undergone a radical shift in the last few hours, but she is certain of one thing. She trusts him.

 

She sits back down, though it may be more accurate to say she collapses, relief removing subtlety from her movements.

“How did you know?” she asks, in part out of curiosity, but also looking for any holes in her performance, any ways to disguise her actions in the future.

 

Another buzz.

 

“You didn’t notice, but for almost the entire time you were here your hand has been constantly straying back to that pocket, checking constantly for an alert. I could see the outline of it. I knew your history of communicating with Ms. Oxton, your use of cell phones to keep connected. I also sensed the electronics activating when you received the first message. I am, after all, mechanical myself. It’s amazing how sensitive one is to electronics when one is technically one themself.”

 

Another buzz.

 

“I do not know how you procured it, and I will not ask. But I trust that you have been using it only as you did in the past. To keep contact with Ms. Oxton. With Lena. Does that answer your question?”

 

Another buzz.

 

She pauses, taking the tidal wave of information in.

A sort of smile flickers on her lips.

“And I thought I was careful. You’ve known this whole time.”

Zenyatta laughs. “Yes, I suppose I did. Now, what did she say?”

 

She pulls her phone out of her pocket, flicks it on. At first the messages fill her with relief. As she continues to read, that feeling disappears, and is replaced by a terrible, terrible cold.

**I’m ok**

**We all are**

**Made it out ok except for a few bumps and bruises**

**Mccree’s got a concussion but he’ll be fine**

**Something else happened though**

**I honestly don’t even know how to explain it**

**I’ll fill you in when we’re back to base, promise**

“Well?” asks the omnic. “What did she say?”

She ignores him for the moment, swiftly typing out a message.

**What’s going on?**

**What happened?**

**Are you sure you are all right?**

The reply comes a beat later.

**I’m good**

**Promise**

**Barely a scratch on me**

**Angie patched up the little bit I had**

**Then what happened?**

**Why do you sound so confused?**

**Probably because it was very confusing**

**Long story short, Reaper relayed a message**

**I’ll explain when we get back**

**Can’t text now, too many eyes**

**See you soon hopefully**

**Je t’aime**

**Love you too**

“Amélie? Is everything alright?” asks the omnic.

“I’m not sure,” she replies. Instead of trying to explain what she’s just read, she simply turns the phone to face the omnic and allows him to read it for himself. Silence descends as he takes the information in.

 

“Well,” he says once he’s finished. “I suppose that the return of our friends will be all the more important now. Any light they can shed on Ms. Oxton’s account of things will surely be interesting.”

“I suppose so,” Amélie replies, but she’s not really paying attention to what the monk is saying. Her mind is whirling. 

Reaper. One of Talon’s favorites. 

Swift. 

Efficient.

Deadly.

Moira’s modifications to his body make him a near unstoppable killing force. Whatever he had to say must not have been good.

And Lena…

Lena is shaken. That much at least is clear.

Possibilities flood her mind, each more terrifying than the last.

She feels cold with fear.

 

She stands.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to return to my room now,” she says to the still seated omnic. He floats off the couch so he is level with her.

“Of course,” he says. “I’ll walk you there if you don’t mind.”

She nods ascent, and they travel through the halls in silence, her mind too occupied to make small talk.

When they reach her room at last, Zenyatta lingers in the doorway.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to figure out a regular schedule to meet. Shall we talk tomorrow?”

“That sounds fine. Thank you Zenyatta.” She makes the effort to smile. She is genuinely glad of his words, his kindness, but her mind is far away, wrapped in anxious thoughts.

 

The monk drifts away, closing the door behind him. She slides her phone out of her pocket a moment later and holds it cradled in her hands. It has remained dark since her last exchange with Lena, and she does not expect to receive any new messages. But still she holds it. If not because she expects something from it, then because it’s something to hang on to.

 

There is nothing to do now but wait.

 

And wait she does.

**Author's Note:**

> Currently this story is updated once a week sometime Saturday EST, and I'm confident I'll be able to stick to that for a while. There's a backlog of chapters waiting to be posted so it's unlikely that any major breaks from this schedule will occur in the near future.
> 
> All that being said, I hope you guys will enjoy what's to come!
> 
> Thanks for reading.


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